Off The Books: Barrett & Renko Take LA
by rekkidbraka
Summary: Hetty salvages the careers of two NCIS agents gone wrong. E.J. Barrett and Mike Renko work "off the books," cleaning up NCIS' nastiest messes. Then there's the sexual tension. Hate E.J.? You won't in this fic. NOTE: Story originally published May 2011. The original EJ/Renko fan fic.
1. Only Girl In The World

Title: Only Girl In The World

Author: rekkidbraka

Rating: T

Pairings: EJ Barrett/Mike Renko

Category: Romance

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Spoilers: None

Summary: How to salvage two NCIS misfits' careers? Let Hetty handle them. EJ and Mike meet. Sort of.

* * *

><p>The flight to Los Angeles was four hours but it felt much, much longer. In her seat — coach; NCIS wasn't even springing for business class for her anymore — E.J. Barrett closed her eyes and tried to figure out how she'd destroyed what had been such a promising career.<p>

The team leader position? Gone. She'd resigned. Had no choice. Vance was furious with her. He'd put a lot of trust in her and she'd made him look like a fool.

The Port-To-Port Killer case? Over. And she'd gotten it horribly wrong. She should've listened to Gibbs, not acted like she knew more than he did. She knew that now. Too late.

The fling with DiNozzo. Done. Total mistake. The guy so obviously was in love with his partner. She'd told him that, finally. He'd not wanted to hear it but she'd told him he should get real and admit that he wanted Ziva, not her. She kind of admired Ziva, actually. Maybe under different circumstances they'd have worked well together. She'd never know.

But what it all amounted to was that Vance had accepted her resignation. She'd been packing up her desk when he'd abruptly called her back to his office. Another dressing down? He'd raked her over the coals for nearly two hours over the P2P Killer. What now?

He'd simply handed her a plane ticket for L.A. and the address for a hotel.

"I don't understand," she'd said.

"You will," Vance told her curtly. "You'll go there and you'll wait."

"For what?" E.J. frankly felt a little scared. Go to Los Angeles and just wait in a hotel? That was crazy.

"For your job interview."

* * *

><p>Once she arrived at the hotel, the first thing she did was what she always did when she was staying in a new place.<p>

She showered.

But this shower was quick. Whatever this "job interview" was, she needed to be ready.

For that, she'd brought along her gun.

Vance hadn't taken her badge or I.D. She was still an agent. But ... where?

Emerging from the shower, she wrapped the thick hotel towel around her and pushed back her strawberry blonde hair. Looking in the mirror, she noticed that she appeared tired. When had she had a good night's sleep? Before she started seeing DiNozzo. She had to put D.C. out of her head. The whole assignment there was an epic fail.

Exiting the bathroom, E.J. started for the closet. She'd need a sharp outfit for this... interview or whatever. She wanted to...

"I suggest the white shift, Miss Barrett," a grandmotherly voice said from over her shoulder. "The lines are classic and compliment your figure."

E.J. whirled around, shocked. She'd had no clue anyone else was in the room.

A diminutive woman with large glasses stood before her.

"Who...?" E.J. was too stunned to speak. She gasped for air. She didn't own a white shift dress. And yet one hung before her in the closet. With matching purse and shoes.

The little lady simply handed her a card with an address on it.

"You'll not want to be late to meet your new partner," she said before turning and, without another word, heading for the door. But just before exiting, she turned back to E.J. and said again, "The shift, Miss Barrett. In all things, moderation." Then she was gone.

* * *

><p>"How's she gonna know him?" Vance said over the phone line. "No names. No photos. Sounds like they're flying blind."<p>

"I have faith, Director," Hetty Lange replied in her all-knowing way, "that they will naturally gravitate towards one another."

* * *

><p>Her new partner, she guessed, would know that she'd be wearing the white shift dress. She hoped so because she had no clue who she was waiting for.<p>

The address was for a trendy L.A. dance club. House music pumped through the speakers and an attractive, well-off twentysomething crowd moved on the dancefloor and held court at the bar. Normally, she'd have enjoyed this scene; she liked to party — still, when she got a chance (which was never) — but she wasn't sure where she should be to meet this new partner of hers. Shouldn't this meeting take place somewhere quieter? Whatever. The whole thing was weird and...

Okay. She was really getting tired of this jerk who'd been leaning right up against her at the bar since she'd gotten there. He was some kind of tall guy with greasy, shoulder-length hair and he'd had his back to her all night. His cologne was terrible; worse than Tony's had been, even. And he kept leaning back, bumping into E.J.'s drink hand, while he was hitting on whatever girl sidled up to where he stood.

At last, when Bar Bimbo No. Three had disappeared and Jerk was throwing back another drink while awaiting his next victim, E.J. decided to confront the guy when he'd caused her to slosh her drink one time too many.

She tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey..." she began. He ignored her.

"HEY!" she snapped, this time yelling. Now she'd gotten his attention. He started to turn around.

Her first thought, seeing his face, was that he had to be the biggest lounge lizard she'd ever laid eyes on.

Greasy-looking hair that needed cutting (and washing)... Easily three days' stubble on his face... Pale green eyes that looked half-asleep...

THIS guy was chatting up all the women at the bar? Please.

He wasn't even GOOD-looking.

It took her a minute to realize she was staring at him. But he was staring her down, too. And when she came back to herself, the look on his face pissed her off. Was he smirking at her? Nobody did that to her. Nobody.

"If you don't mind," E.J. began in a biting tone, "I'd like to NOT keep spilling my drink. So maybe you could stop bumping into me."

He sneered at her. He had this smile that was crooked. That, too, pissed her off.

"I don't mind that you can't hold a drink in your hand," he answered laconically before turning back around.

Now she was furious.

"Listen, DIRTBAG," E.J. said threateningly, grabbing the man's shoulder to force him to look at her.

He turned again and, staring down at her, rolled his eyes. Then he leaned down and whispered in E.J.'s ear, his breath hot against her skin. A shock of sudden, intense arousal shot through her body. She had to catch her breath; the sensation of his lips so near her was almost more than she could take.

"Go play somewhere else, little girl," he whispered huskily. "You don't wanna start something with me you can't finish."

* * *

><p>Luck had been on her side, for once. As she'd stood, stunned by his words and his touch, some random guy in his 20s had sidled up and started hitting on her, asking if she wanted to dance.<p>

Since the man whose attention she now wanted had turned away again, she composed herself and, yanking this other guy away from the bar, escaped to the dancefloor.

This was good. She relaxed as the music throbbed. She knew how to move on a dancefloor. And, she thought, casting an eye back towards the greasy guy at the bar, he'd see what he was missing now.

* * *

><p>Blondes.<p>

Blondes were trouble. Always.

Better to go after a solid brunette. But he'd tried all the lines on Kensi and that wasn't going to happen. Damn Deeks. He didn't care what Kensi said — that she and Deeks were just partners. They were getting it on. Deeks... Deeks! The guy had clown hair. C'mon...

Into his third whisky now, he watched her out there on the dancefloor. Those mirrors that clubs put behind the bar to make a room seem bigger than it was? An agent's best friend. They were how he'd monitored so many punks and pimps and tweakers throughout his less-than-stellar career at NCIS. But tonight he was just enjoying the view.

If that little blonde moved like that when she danced, she had to be amazing in the...

Then he remembered why he was there at the bar, waiting.

Supposed to meet his new boss — sight unseen. His job to make the contact. He'd just have to figure out who he (or she) was. Another one of Hetty's tests. He needed to pass this one. He'd bombed it when the tweakers tweaked themselves into a mass funeral, taking critical evidence needed to make his case with them. Hetty had been... uh... less than pleased.

"I forgive, Mr. Renko," she'd told him in that way of hers. "I do not forget."

He was off the Special Projects team. But he wasn't kicked out of NCIS. Hetty had "other plans" for him.

So now he was getting yet another boss. And they'd only be a two-man operation. Swell.

Which one of these losers in the club was so lousy at their NCIS gig that they managed to end up being in charge of him? He'd been there for over an hour and didn't see anyone who fit the bill.

Probably time to quit watching the little blonde. Getting turned on before meeting the boss? Not such a great idea.

* * *

><p>Dammit, why couldn't she catch his eye?<p>

She'd noticed so many guys checking her out. On the dancefloor. From the bar.

But not him.

This was a waste of time. And, sorry, but there was no way some NCIS agent was meeting her here.

Vance had set her up to be humiliated. Again. By his strange little friend.

Ultimate payback for how she'd made him look bad to the higher-ups. She deserved it.

Now, though, she'd had enough. She was out of here.

And this time her resignation would really be accepted. She'd insist.

* * *

><p>She was pitching her clothes into her suitcase when the knock came at her hotel room door. 3:30 a.m. If it was that weird little woman again, she was going to...<p>

She didn't even ask who was there. She didn't care. She threw the door open.

He was just standing there, leaning against the door frame, staring at her.

"Nice digs," he said in that don't-give-a-damn tone he'd used at the bar.

He'd followed her to the hotel from the club. Part of her wanted to let him in, the old E.J. who'd always let herself get distracted by the boys, as she'd told Tony. That was one of her fatal flaws, she'd realized, and she'd determined to change it. The candy store was closed. She had to focus. Having a one-nighter with this guy wouldn't solve her problems. It would just make her forget them for a few hours and then she'd be right back where she started. And he'd be gone.

"My dad told me never to open the door to strangers," E.J. shot back. She shut the door, locking it. Leaning against the door, she let out a long, deep breath. Smart move.

But she knew... she knew he was still out there, waiting. And something told her he wouldn't leave. He'd be there when she opened the door again.

She could call hotel security. And he'd find her. Outside of the hotel. She just got this from him. Already. Most women would find it creepy but she understood it for what it was in his case: He was intrigued.

He wanted her.

And she knew that before she left Los Angeles, she wouldn't be able to stay away from him.

So she opened the door.

"Pancakes," he said, as if their conversation had never been interrupted. "Pancakes would be great right now."

* * *

><p>The all-night diner, Spades, was in a part of town that E.J. guessed wasn't on anybody's Tour of the Stars map. Prostitutes and their pimps, kids high on God knew what and babbling street people populated the booths and counter seats. The waitresses were all in their late 40s and up. Nobody was in a hurry to offer service. E.J. bristled at the overall uncleanliness of the place. She wrapped her arms tightly around her, wondering if the booth would leave some kind of stain on the pristine white shift she wore. This place was a dive.<p>

Across the table, his pale green eyes stole a quick glance at her. She was hating this, he could tell. He loved that. He'd make sure they came here for breakfast all the time. He did, anyway. They loved him here. They'd get to love her, too. He could tell.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the waitress, a stout woman in her early 60s with white-blonde streaks in her dyed, hot pink hair, said, smirking at him. "Rough night at the office, huh?"

The woman winked at him, cocking her head at E.J. He cast his eyes at E.J., who shook her head in disbelief, smirking at being talked about as if she weren't there.

"Putting in overtime, Vi," he said, letting that crooked smile of his show. The waitress snickered. E.J. already disliked her.

"The usual, Hot Shot?" Vi asked. He nodded. "What about you, honey?"

"Coffee," E.J. snapped. "With a clean spoon," she added, meaning it.

Vi cut her eyes at "Hot Shot," who lazily shrugged.

"She'll have the Midnight Express," he said. E.J. opened her mouth to protest but Vi had already scribbled the order onto her pad and, with a long look at E.J., stuck her pencil into her mound of a classic beehive hairdo as she left the table.

"You ORDERED for me?" E.J. hissed, furious.

"I did," said "Hot Shot," closing his eyes. "Better learn to make up your mind faster."

"Let's get something straight... HOT SHOT," E.J. said, chiding him, "you don't TELL me what to do. Got it?"

She was a pistol. He stared at her, wanting nothing more than to take her back to his apartment and feel her, naked against him, entwined in the sheets of his bed. Her skin looked so smooth. He imagined how she'd fit against him. He'd love to see her completely vulnerable, that loud yap of hers only able to beg him to...

"Coffee black for my Hot Shot," Vi said, interrupting his thoughts as she placed a mug before him. "Coffee clean spoon for the Cheerleader here," she added, not batting an eye as she raised a challenging brow at E.J. Then she headed back to the kitchen.

"Cheerleader," E.J. repeated, surprised. "Wait... How'd she...?" She looked at Hot Shot looking at her. He was laughing into his coffee. "Hey, I like things to be clean, OK? Something wrong with that?"

He just smiled at her, sipping his coffee.

Reluctantly, she brought her mug to her lips and took a sip of the hot coffee. It was rich, arguably the best coffee she'd ever had. And the spoon was spotless. She glanced over at the counter. Vi the Waitress winked at her, offering a little half-smile. Truce. E.J. smiled back.

"That thing at the bar," Hot Shot said, his green eyes studying E.J.'s face, "It gonna show up on my eval... Boss?"

E.J.'s smile faded. "Hot Shot's" had too. They stared at each other, realizing their situation.

"No," E.J. said, clearing her throat. "And don't call me 'Boss.'"

* * *

><p>At the door to her hotel room, she turned to him. She hadn't asked his name and he'd not asked hers. They'd eaten their breakfast in silence and hadn't spoken since it hit them that they were each other's new NCIS partner. E.J. had never felt so awkward with a man before. She wanted him. At least wanted to get to know him better — off the job. And it wasn't going to happen. Not now. She understood why Tony had gotten furious when she'd told him to just admit he was in love with Ziva. He'd told her there were rules about this sort of thing when they'd started fooling around and she'd said there weren't. But now she got it. There were. Even if there weren't. It hurt like hell, knowing this guy was so close and so out of reach.<p>

"I'm E.J. Barrett," she said as casually as possible. "Just so you know."

"Mike Renko," he replied.

"Got it," E.J. said. "So you know... um..."

"Hetty."

"... Hetty better than I do. What happens now? Do we call her? Does she call us? Does she drop down from the ceiling like James Bond or something?"

The hotel room door opened. E.J. turned, surprised. She hadn't even swiped the key card.

"That," Hetty Lange said, "is a fictional technique suited well to cinema, Miss Barrett. It rarely proves optimal in practice, however."

E.J. closed her eyes, catching her breath. Was there anywhere this woman couldn't show up?

"Nice suit, Hetty," Mike said. "New?"

"Givenchy, Mr. Renko," Hetty answered casually. "Merely something I picked up in Paris during a short junket recently."

"What was the body count?" Mike asked, smirking.

"The fashions this spring were outstanding," Hetty replied, her eyes sparkling. Mike snickered.

E.J. shivered. Just who had Vance gotten her mixed up with?

"Now that we've dispensed with the by-play," Hetty continued, ushering them into the room, "let's go over your first assignment."

* * *

><p>After Mike left, once the assignment was detailed, E.J. and Hetty remained in the hotel room. The cover story was that she and Renko were reassigned to desk jobs at the NCIS: LA Records Filing And Procurement Division. In other words, they were in what was known among agents as the Dead Letter Office or the Filing Cabinet. Agents sent there were never seen or heard from again unless they quit. They spent their careers in absolute obscurity. Nobody needed anything from them or asked. They were the lowest of the low. Probies were accorded more respect.<p>

"So should I start looking for an apartment? What's the procedure for..."

Hetty patted E.J.'s hand kindly.

"There are no procedures. No expenses. The operations you and Mr. Renko undertake are strictly off the books. Director's orders."

E.J. frowned, confused.

"I understand," she lied. "But how am I supposed to find a place to stay? L.A. is expensive and..."

"You'll stay with Mr. Renko."

E.J. swallowed hard.

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

Hetty leaned forward and, again, patted her hand.

"I expect the two of you to build a strong, lasting partnership, Miss Barrett," Hetty said quietly. "The details, I leave to your discretion."


	2. My House

Title: My House  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: EJ moves in with Mike.

* * *

><p>"Shabby" was too nice a term for his apartment. "Seedy"... that was more appropriate.<p>

It was around the corner from Spades. Probably why he'd taken her there. Easier to bring her back to his place for their one-night stand that never happened after they'd figured out that theirs would be a working relationship.

And now she'd be living here.

This was what her life had come to - being the roommate of an NCIS agent who was even lower on the agency totem pole than she was. And a disgusting slob to boot.

E.J. folded her arms and surveyed her new home. It was a pig sty.

Clothes draped furniture that hadn't met a feather duster in years. Beer bottles and empty takeout boxes and cartons littered every available surface. Back issues of GHM Magazine with half-dressed women lay strewn about. Tony had them, too. What was the deal with guys fantasizing over babes in underwear? They'd never score these types of women. Why waste the time and money on a glossy dream that wasn't happening? But just ask them what the last actual book they'd read was and their mouths dropped open. And the smell of that toxic waste Mike bathed in (when he apparently bathed) permeated the air. She wanted to gag.

Instead, E.J. gathered herself and formulated a plan.

First, she'd head to the little grocery store down the block and pick up cleaning supplies. Lots of them. And gloves. Many gloves.

Then she'd clean this pit.

After that, she'd figure out where she'd be sleeping.

But she knew one thing would be certain. Wherever she slept that night, it would damn sure be spotless.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Barrett! I picked up all your junk from the office," Mike yelled, pushing the door to the apartment open with his hips. In his arms, he carried an expertly-taped cardboard box marked "E.J. BARRETT: NCIS - Box 6" in thick black marker. The thing was heavy as hell. "How many damn boxes of ..."<p>

He stopped short, stunned by what he saw.

His apartment was spotless.

It occurred to him that this might be the first time he'd seen the hardwood floor since about three weeks after he'd moved in. Things had started to get a little dicey at that point. One carelessly tossed t-shirt turned into two, then three and then he just started buying new clothes or hitting the thrift store if his undercover assignment called for it. He didn't even know where the laundry room in the building was.

E.J. popped out from his bedroom door. She'd tied her hair back into a loose ponytail and wore a t-shirt and some old, faded blue jeans and tennis shoes. Yellow rubber gloves covered her hands and a dust mask shielded her nose and mouth. In one hand, she wielded a huge spray bottle with a logo of a smiling scrub brush. In the other, she gripped a sponge as if she were holding a weapon.

Mike gaped at her. She practically skipped to meet him.

"Awesome! Let's see what you've got there, Renko."

Without removing her mask, she chirped, "Box 6. My records. Good. Just put them down over there by your stereo."

Mike glared at her, but moved to do as she said.

"NO!" E.J. snapped. "NOT under the window! They'll warp! Over THERE! Away from the sunlight."

Mike snarled and, disgusted with his new "roommate's" attitude, let the box fall from his grip. E.J. raced to where it lay on the floor.

"JERK!" she said angrily. "What the HELL?" She tore the box open, checking its contents. Everything was okay. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had a lot of records but Box 6 was special. They were her dad's old records. Classics. Couldn't be replaced. But mostly, they had been his and he had loved them. That was what counted.

"Get your own stuff," Mike said coldly. "I'm done being your pack mule." He went into the small kitchen area, opened the vintage refrigerator and took out a cold beer. Uncapping the bottle, he took a long pull and flopped down onto the newly-cleaned couch, propping his feet on the coffee table - which E.J. had also just cleaned off and dusted. Her nostrils flared, seeing this.

"Take your feet OFF that table!" she barked. "NOW!"

"Go to hell, Barrett," Mike growled, "it's my place."

"OUR place," E.J. corrected him.

"Not YOUR place until you back-pay the past two years' rent," Mike sniped. E.J. narrowed her eyes at him.

If he wanted to play it the hard way, fine.

She ripped off the gloves and mask, putting them down with her cleaning supplies. Then she headed for her purse and took out her checkbook.

"How much?"

Mike, in the middle of a long swallow of beer, eyed her coolly. Was she joking? He'd only been trying to send her a message, not actually score a payoff. He finished his drink and slowly set the bottle down on the coffee table. E.J. gritted her teeth, knowing the bottle would leave a ring. And she'd worked hard on that table. It was vintage teak and he was slobbing it up again.

He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, trying not to laugh. But he couldn't help it. She had to be kidding. Had to be.

"How... much?"

Or not.

"I'm not taking your money," Mike said, crossing his arms as his glare met hers. She was going to be stubborn. But she didn't know him that well. He didn't back down, either.

"Oh, yes, you are," E.J. insisted. "I'll pay whatever I have to in order to keep you from wrecking everything I just worked all afternoon to clean up. You tell me what it's gonna cost to keep your feet off that table. How much I've got to pay to get you to put a coaster under your beer. What it takes to keep you from breaking my records. I'll write the check right now."

Now he felt like an ass. She'd cleaned up the apartment and he'd thanked her by acting like a creep. He felt his face grow hot.

"Cut it out," he said quietly, taking his feet off the table. He used his t-shirt to wipe up the water left by the beer bottle so it wouldn't stain. "I gotta go get your stuff in." He drained the rest of the bottle and tossed it into the wastebasket, which was now free of trash. Something else she'd taken care of. Then he turned and started for the door.

"I'm not kidding," E.J. called after Mike. "I want us to be all square, Renko."

Her answer to that was him closing the door softly as he exited, leaving her alone in the apartment.

* * *

><p>Later, when she'd finished her cleaning, E.J. got out some of the groceries she'd bought at the store and started fixing dinner. Mike, carefully setting down the last of her boxes, regarded her with amusement.<p>

"You cook?" he asked.

"And wash windows," E.J. replied, peeling a clove of garlic. "You're a lucky man."

"Huh..." Mike mumbled, opening the refrigerator. He took out another beer. They were obviously letting the checkbook incident go. Which was good.

"Nope," E.J. said, not even looking back at him. "That doesn't go with what we're having. Put it back. Open that bottle of Zin."

She nodded towards a bottle of a pricey red Zinfandel. Mike picked it up and frowned at it.

"I don't have a wine opener," he said.

"Corkscrew," E.J. corrected. "And you do now." She pointed to a shiny silver corkscrew on the kitchen counter. "You do know where it goes, right?"

"I know where I'd like to put it," Mike muttered, opening the wine. E.J. snickered, licking her teeth with her tongue. She deserved that. "I guess I have wine glasses now, too," he said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Cabinet over the toaster oven," she said, finishing a rough chop of the garlic. Mike found the glasses and started to pour them some wine but E.J. again stopped him. "Not yet. Let it breathe," she told him. He sighed, looking down at the counter. He wasn't a freaking moron. Realizing that she was being bossy, E.J. opted for a new tack. And a new tone.

"So... I saw your records when I was dusting the stereo. You have some cool stuff, Renko. I alphabetized everything. Now you'll be able to find what you want easy." E.J. smiled brightly at Mike. He frowned back at her.

"My records were organized," he said.

"How?"

"By the songs I like to fool around to," Mike replied.

"Oh my God..." E.J. said, pursing her lips as she shook her head.

"What? You have your system, Barrett, I have mine." He sighed, fingering the wine label. "Now it's all screwed up."

"Shut up and put on some music," E.J. teased. Mike headed for his newly-organized records, crouching as he studied the collection. "And NOT one of your 'doing-it' songs!" E.J. added, keeping her eye on him just in case.

Mike looked over his shoulder at her, smiled and winked. She rolled her eyes and went back to prepping dinner, trying not to smile back. It didn't work.

* * *

><p>The shower had worked its usual magic, calming her, helping her settle in to her latest home. She felt warm, clean and relaxed - at ease for the first time since leaving D.C. Really, since arriving in D.C. Los Angeles would be kinder to her, she thought as she finished drying her hair.<p>

E.J. collapsed on Mike's bed, exhausted. She'd washed his sheets and now the bed looked fabulous, as did the room itself. She liked his taste in color. Purples, reds, oranges and browns - the room had a Mediterranean feel to it, reminding her of Rota. Life had been pretty good then. Images of Spain crossed her mind as she drifted off ... This bed... was so comfortable... It still smelled like Mike's cologne but... she was starting to like the scent...

* * *

><p>In the living room, on the fold-out couch, Mike lay staring at the ceiling. He hadn't even known the damn couch extended into a bed.<p>

Thanks to E.J., he was learning all sorts of new things about the apartment he'd lived in for almost two years now. Like, that the stove worked. Dinner had been great. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't eaten at Spades or in some hole-in-the-wall around town when he was on assignment. He'd never cooked anything in his own kitchen. But E.J. had. And she was a pretty damn good cook, it turned out. Great wine, too. Not that he'd know, really, but he guessed her tastes didn't run cheap. They'd finished the bottle between them. He wasn't drunk but the wine had made him sleepy. And he was a confirmed nightowl. This was an early night for him.

He'd listened as she showered, trying not to imagine her naked and soapy under the hot water.

That had been a losing battle.

But he had to admit, at least he was happy. Yeah. For a change. Usually he hated being in his apartment. Tonight he'd enjoyed staying in. With her. They'd even talked. Well, mostly she'd talked. He'd listened. That was okay. Her chattering didn't annoy him as much as he'd thought it would. It was kind of cute.

Maybe having her around was going to be okay. Even if he was stuck on the couch.

For now.


	3. Dirty Desire

Title: Dirty Desire  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: A recon assignment brings EJ and Mike closer together.

* * *

><p>"What is it with Hetty sending us to clubs?" E.J. asked Mike as she carefully applied her lipstick, rubbing her lips together when she'd finished. "Are we being paid to work or to party?"<p>

Mike sprayed shaving cream into the palm of his hand, then rubbed it onto his neck, chin and cheeks. He was bringing his razor up to his neck when E.J. popped her head into the bathroom.

"NO!" she screeched. Mike nearly sliced open a vein, flinching at being startled. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?" E.J. demanded.

Mike turned to face her, his shaving cream "beard" tingling his skin.

"SHAVING!" he thundered, getting pissed. He'd almost decapitated himself thanks to her.

"Don't!" E.J. told him. "Get that junk off your face. Now."

"What's your problem?" Mike asked, frowning. He turned back towards the mirror and picked up his razor again. E.J. sighed, thoroughly exasperated that he was, yet again, determined to ignore her.

"It's just..."

She was embarrassed to tell him the real reason she didn't want him to shave.

"... that five o'clock shadow makes you look tough. We could probably use that on a job. Just a little added insurance. Impressions matter."

The truth was that she thought his stubble was sexy and she didn't want to see it gone. She wanted to run the tips of her fingers over it, turn him on. Get turned on.

"Yeah, well," Mike said, running the razor slowly up his neck, "it'll grow back."

"Fine," E.J. said, disgusted. She turned and stalked out of the bathroom doorway. He was in one of those moods. Wasn't going to listen to a damn thing she said.

Tonight would be fun. Not.

* * *

><p>The nightclub they'd been sent to was less high-end than where they'd had their initial meeting. It was still nice but the crowd wasn't as young. The place had more of a mid-'60s Hollywood feel to it. E.J. felt somewhat out of place there but she noticed that Mike seemed to be completely in his element.<p>

And she had to admit... the shave? Hadn't taken anything away from how attractive he was. She still liked him better with the stubble but he cleaned up well. Since she appreciated cleanliness, this was a nice surprise. But the scruffiness worked for him. She didn't want him spiffing up too much.

Tonight, Mike was wearing a dark brown suit with a lime green pinstriped shirt and purplish-brown tie with a tiny flower pattern. Again, with one of his tie tacks she loved. E.J. was impressed by his fashion sense. She hadn't figured him for the kind of guy who put thought into his clothes but whenever they went to "work," he looked amazing. To her, anyway. And Hetty had another new dress delivered to E.J. earlier. Not a bad deal when the boss was springing for your work clothes and your "uniform" was expensive outfits that you'd never be able to afford. The only caviat was that she make sure each dress remained in perfect shape during each assignment. Hetty, E.J. had quickly learned, wasn't a fan of the government expense write-off.

"Hey, Renko," E.J. said as she and Mike slid into a leather horseshoe-shaped booth near the bar, "how do you afford those suits on what we make? Does Hetty dress you, too?"

"I buy my suits off dead guys," Mike said casually. "Thrift store."

"Well, anyway..." E.J. replied, reconsidering Mike's outfit, "... nice 'Dead Guy' tie."

"Thanks," Mike answered. "Hope it works out better for me than it did for him."

Mike straightened his 'Dead Guy' tie, scanning the dancefloor. Hetty had also sent them a "club mix," which turned out to be a CD of her detailing who they were to recon at the club. They were to watch for a young man, an AWOL Navy purser who'd jumped ship in San Diego and was thought to be hiding in L.A., using a fake identity. He'd stolen a tidy sum from his former ship and Hetty intended that it be returned, whatever remained. And that he be returned. By any means necessary. Special Projects could finish the takedown but her OTB duo, as she'd dubbed E.J. and Mike, would make the preparations.

"We do the grunt work and they get the credit," E.J. had griped. But it was indicative of how far she'd fallen, career-wise. She was lucky to still have a position with NCIS. So she accepted her lot. Mike had said nothing.

They'd lucked out tonight. Their boy showed. And LAPD was hot on his heels. The moron ran into the club like a bat out of hell, cops giving chase. E.J. and Mike watched as they tackled him, cuffed him and hauled him off. When Mike hit the bar for his third whisky, he asked the bartender what just happened. The bartender, he'd noticed, was buddy-buddy with one of the cops. Probably a cop who worked there off-duty for extra cash.

"Yeah, that dumbass didn't stop when they tried pulling him over. Busted tail light. Now he's going downtown. They found all kinds of fake ID on him. And serious bank. He's had it."

Mike smiled, took out his iPhone and called in his report. Hetty was more than pleased. Special Projects wouldn't even need to be called in for the takedown. Deeks would bring their quarry to NCIS. Mike and E.J. had already come in under budget. They were given the rest of the night off as a reward.

* * *

><p>"I hate this music," Mike grumbled. The DJ had switched from Rat Pack lounge music to Beyonce and Rihanna without literally missing a beat.<p>

"C'mon, give it a chance," E.J. said brightly. "It's fun. You remember fun, right?"

"This isn't fun. This is torture. You bring your piece? 'Cause a bullet to the brain would feel incredible right now. This music sucks."

"I like it. It's great for dancing. Hey, let's dance, Renko!"

E.J. reached for Mike's arm but he gave her a look that said "Yeah, right" and pulled away, folding his arms over his chest. E.J. was incredulous.

"Look, our guy is nice and cozy in LAPD lockup and he's off to NCIS tomorrow. Hetty said we're off the clock." E.J. flashed Mike a playful smile.

"You dance," he muttered. "I'll drink."

A song that she liked was being worked into the mix. She wanted desperately to dance — and for Mike to take the floor with her.

"Renko, come ON! We're missing my song!" E.J. tugged at Mike's sleeve.

"THIS is your song?" Mike asked, frowning.

"YES! Now get UP! Let's GO!"

"What are you, thirteen? You pass the DJ a love note with little hearts all over it so he'd play this song you and the Pep Squad are creaming your jeans over?"

Mike snickered into his whisky. E.J. fumed. Being the target of his snark wasn't her idea of a good time.

"I'm going to need you to stop insulting my taste in music. Now."

E.J. shot Mike a nasty look. She was tired of his smart remarks.

"Sorry. I can't. Because it's so lame."

She'd reached the end of her patience with him. E.J. whipped her head around, glaring at Mike.

"Dammit, I'm telling you to shut the HELL up, Renko! GOT it?"

"Hey, you're the boss," Mike said thickly. He was getting drunk. And he could be a mean drunk.

"Yes," E.J. shot back. "I am."

"And you're good at it," Mike agreed, seriously studying his whisky.

"Yes ... I AM," E.J. snapped.

"Because you're bossy," Mike said, downing the rest of his drink.

Later, when she thought it over, she guessed that maybe she shouldn't have slapped him THAT hard. But it felt so good when she did it. It really did.

* * *

><p>"I said I was sorry," E.J. repeated. For, like, the 27th time. Mike was pouting about the slap. Totally milking it but still making her feel guilty.<p>

"You assaulted me," Mike slurred. He knew he should have stopped after the fifth whisky. But he didn't. He'd better control the drinking, though; that was part of what got him bounced from Special Projects.

"Get real," E.J. said dismissively. They were home now — she'd driven them — and she was wiped out from so much "fun" with Mike. He flopped down on the couch and she put a record on the stereo. One of his. Probably one of his top 'fooling around' albums. "Chet Baker Sings." A classic. But also soft. Something to relax to. She needed to de-stress. After their fabulous night on the town.

E.J. plopped down next to Mike on the couch, closing her eyes as the music started.

"I really am sorry," she said softly.

"I forgive you," Mike muttered, shooting her a little grin.

"Enough to dance with me?" E.J. asked, tenderly elbowing him.

"I'm not dancing, Barrett, so give it up."

Mike started to close his eyes but E.J. wasn't backing off. He was drunk, dizzy and sleepy. And he knew she wasn't going to leave him alone.

"No way," E.J. insisted, tugging at his arm. She giggled at his pretend resistance. "You WILL learn how to dance, Renko."

She took his arm, pulling him off the couch. He felt embarrassed, nervous at the prospect of being so close to her. But he let her have her way, too groggy to put up a fight.

"I'm the worst dancer in the world," Mike said thickly, groaning as E.J. positioned him to slow dance. "For me, two left feet would be a plus."

"You're NOT a terrible dancer," E.J. said, gazing up at Mike. "And besides, now you have me to teach you all the moves."

Her blue eyes sparkled in the dim lights of the apartment. She moved his hands down to the sides of her hips. Then she rested her head against his chest as they slowly swayed to the soft song playing on the stereo. She was leading but it was alright with him.

It was almost more than Mike could stand, having her body right against his. He tried fighting the physical response he knew was coming but it was impossible, even with him being drunk. She felt him suddenly stiff against her thigh, his breathing labored.

"Mike..." E.J. whispered. With a longing look, she moved her hands behind his neck and pulled him down towards her. He didn't resist.

Now their lips were nearly touching. She felt his breath hot and thick, mixing with hers. The smell of the whisky aroused her. He wasn't so drunk that he didn't know what he was doing. This felt good. It felt right.

He wanted to kiss her more than he'd wanted anything in his life. But he knew that if he did, there wouldn't be any going back. Their relationship would be changed forever - and maybe not for the better. Because if he kissed her, he wouldn't be able to stop. Kissing would lead to touching and touching to lovemaking. He wasn't sure what that would lead to in the morning. Or afterwards.

And so he pulled back. E.J. felt like she'd been punched in the gut. There wouldn't be a kiss.

"Good night," Mike whispered back huskily, slowly taking his hands from her waist. He ran his hand through his hair and, suddenly feeling awkward in E.J.'s presence, he looked down at the floor, unable to face her.

She swallowed hard. They'd wanted it, both of them — the kiss and what might come after. They'd been so close this time. And it wasn't going to happen. Again.

"Yeah," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady. She was already fighting tears. "Good night."

The Chet Baker record began to skip.

And she quietly made her way to Mike's bedroom, where she now slept. Alone.


	4. Green Light

Title: Green Light  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Will EJ and Mike take things to the next level?

* * *

><p>He'd been watching her all day. Cleaning up things that were already clean. Her way of working off stress. But they hadn't even started their next job for Hetty yet. What did she have to stress out about?<p>

Well, there was the matter of the kiss that never happened the night before.

She'd been playing it off like it was no big deal. But it had been.

"You know," E.J. began, a little frustration creeping into her tone, "you COULD give me a hand."

Mike smirked and, putting his beer down on the coaster he'd placed on the coffee table, clapped. E.J. shot him a dirty look and threw a dishrag at him.

"Hey, you asked," he said, wrinkling his nose at the dishrag.

"Dishes, Renko," E.J. snapped, not kidding. "Wash. Dry. Put up."

"You're not the boss of me, Barrett," Mike muttered.

"Actually, I am," E.J. said. "Ask Vance. Or Hetty. So move it."

Mike sighed, finished his beer and, mumbling some obscenities, made his way to the sink. He wasn't scared of her. Much.

* * *

><p>She'd gone out that evening for a couple of hours. Running. Working out. Some lame excuse to get away from him. When she got home, she'd showered. He'd slacked it on the couch all day, hung over from all the whisky the night before. He had to cut back.<p>

E.J. entered the large living room / kitchen area and, without a word for Mike, got a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

"How long's this gonna go on?" Mike asked. "The silent treatment?"

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment," E.J. said defensively.

"You're not talking to me," Mike shot back.

"I just did," E.J. snapped. "I'm talking to you now, in fact. See? Speech."

"You're pissed about last night," Mike said.

E.J. narrowed her eyes at him. Her face flushed red.

"Nothing happened last night," she hissed. But he'd hit a nerve. She was hurt, not mad.

"We gotta work this out," Mike said quietly.

"Work WHAT out?" E.J. replied in a brusque tone.

"C'mon... " Mike said, challenging her. His green eyes were fixed on her. She wasn't sure what to do. He was staring at her intently and she was getting mixed signals.

Was she reading him right?

The way he was sprawled on the couch was an unspoken invitation to join him. Not to make a place for herself independently of him, but to lay with him, mesh her body into his.

She hesitated.

Getting involved with a man she worked with had never turned out in her favor before. She didn't want to screw up this second chance the Director had given her. Yet she couldn't lie and tell herself she wasn't attracted to him. She had been since their first meeting. Mike had been the one who'd backed off last night. But now he was looking at her like he wanted her. What had changed?

She knew that she wanted him.

"Come here, Barrett..." Mike whispered as she approached the couch.

And then she was fitting herself against him, loving how it felt to be in his arms, tasting the sweetness of his tongue as it pressed against hers, probing gently.

* * *

><p>He hadn't been in his own bed for nearly a month since E.J. had moved in. And now he was flat on his back, naked, letting her explore him. As her tongue caressed his neck, working its way to his chest, he flashed randomly on how clean the sheets felt underneath him. She wouldn't have it any other way.<p>

One hand stroked the smooth skin of her back, the other tangled itself in her hair. The sensation of her lips, her tongue on his skin was making him crazy. He growled deep in his throat. The pain in his groin was agonizing. He needed her now, no more waiting.

But she was, by nature, a tease. And teasing him, making him wait until she was ready to have him, was part of the game.

She straddled him, pressing down on his groin, but didn't take him inside. He moaned softly, even pitifully. She tossed back her hair and smiled down at him.

"Soon..." she whispered, her lips brushing his. "Soon..."

Maybe the other guys had all waited for her, done it her way, but he couldn't.

He wouldn't.

"Now..." he groaned, pulling her down hard against his body.

She was breathing as heavily as he was; she wanted it just as much.

They locked eyes for a minute. Who would break first?

"Say please," she whispered, barely able to speak.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. This was torture.

"Please..." he moaned, unable to continue.

Then she offered him a soft smile. And made love to him more tenderly than any woman ever had.

* * *

><p>Later, as Mike slept, E.J. studied him in the moonlight. It had been so good, this night. He was better than she'd thought he'd be. And that was saying something. No man — and she had been with many — had ever satisfied her like he had. Not even Tony. Tony hadn't come close to Mike. There was no comparison.<p>

Then again, she thought, Mike didn't call out Ziva's name at "that" moment. Tony had. He'd apologized, said it was the wine they'd had at dinner. But she knew the truth. She was always just his substitute for the real thing. If he couldn't have Ziva in bed, he'd pretend. With her. That had been the beginning of the end. She wanted a man who loved her — not someone who was lying to himself about his feelings for another woman.

Mike. He loved her.

She knew it.

She'd seen it in his eyes when he let go. He'd gazed up at her, then passed out for a few seconds. But before blacking out, he'd called out her name. Slurred it, really. He'd been unconscious when she released him. She'd had to slap him, gently, to bring him around.

But just now, he'd thrown one arm across her protectively, possessively. And he'd mumbled her name again.

Her name. Nobody else's.

She closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her as Mike pulled her gently to his body, groaning softly as she snuggled into him.

This was good. It was right.

And she slept for a long time, soundly, in Mike's embrace.

* * *

><p>It took him a minute or so to realize that the pounding he heard was coming from the door to the apartment, not from his own skull.<p>

E.J. was out. The hammering at the door wasn't waking her up. But he didn't want it to, either, so he got out of bed and, hastily pulling on his jeans, ran for the door. And whatever jackass was playing a drum solo on it at... 6 a.m? What the HELL?

He flung the door open, pissed to no end. Before him stood a kid — arguably the skinniest black kid he'd ever seen — with a huge '70s afro. He wore a Chicago Bulls t-shirt. Pretty bold in Lakers Land. He couldn't have been over 20. The kid, stopped in mid-pounding, flashed a huge smile at Mike.

"Yes?" Mike muttered, trying to be polite. If this guy was a tweaker looking for a fix...

"You Mr. Renko?" the kid asked, silly smile still plastered on his face. Mike eyed him cautiously.

"Why?"

"Espe-shee-al dee-livery for you, SIR," the kid said sarcastically, emphasizing the word "Sir." He handed Mike what appeared to be a square item wrapped pristinely in brown paper, tied with string.

Mike yanked the kid inside the apartment, slamming the door.

"Hey MAN!" the kid squawked, unhappy at being grabbed so rudely. "Git yo' hands OFFA me!"

"Who're you workin' for?" Mike asked in a low, threatening tone.

"Yo, I ain't sayin' NOTHIN', man!"

E.J., rousted by the noise, had slipped into a satiny robe. She pushed back her hair and casually strolled over to Mike's side.

"I'd talk if I were you," she told the kid, cocking her head over towards Mike. "I don't know what he might do if you piss him off any more than you already have. He's terrible until he's had his morning coffee."

The kid's eyes were wide as saucers. Mike loomed over him, snarling. E.J. yawned, stretched and somewhat flounced merrily over to the kitchen area.

"Well, whaddaya know..." she said, smirking as she opened a cabinet, looking back at the kid. "Looks like we're all out of coffee, babe," she said flippantly to Mike.

Mike narrowed his eyes at the kid and took a threatening step towards him. The kid stumbled backwards, nearly falling.

"Guess I better get dressed and go get some. You guys'll be okay by yourselves for a while, right?" E.J. slowly started for the bedroom.

"C'MON, MAN!"

The kid was panicking. E.J. smirked, waiting...

"A-IGHT! YO!" he hollered, terrified of Mike, who continued backing him down. At last, the kid stumbled in reverse until he fell onto the couch.

E.J. strolled over to where their visitor sat, trembling, on the couch.

"Spill it," she said, folding her arms as she joined Mike in giving the kid a death glare.

"Mister Leon!" the kid said, quaking with fear, "He told me to go see Miss Hetty, aight? And she gave me that for y'all..." He indicated the square package. "Tol' me to git y'all what y'all need, aight? She just hook me up with that lil' thing."

"Hetty sent you here?" Mike asked, squinting. He wasn't sure he was buying this but... it did sound like Hetty.

"Leon?" E.J. repeated. "You know Director Vance?"

"He tight with my Pops from back in the neighborhood - when they was boxin'," the kid said. "My mama said he called up a couple weeks ago sayin' he wanted me to hang up them spitbuckets back in the gym 'cause he was hookin' me up out here, aight? With a REAL job. My mama all proud 'cause everybody know Mister Leon a big man now. He fly me out here first CLASS, yo!"

E.J. winced. This loudmouthed kid got the red carpet treatment from Vance. She was barely worth coach.

"First lesson?" Mike told the kid, "You gotta learn to shut up more."

"But you ASK me..."

"SECOND lesson," Mike continued, "is there won't be a third lesson if you screw it up with Hetty and Vance. You got that?"

The kid pursed his lips, sighing in frustration.

"Dag... This job suck already..."

"Your name," E.J. demanded curtly.

"Dazz," the kid said.

"Your REAL name," she snapped. Just how was this kid supposed to help them? To "get them what they'd need?" Right. He looked like he could totally handle that. Sure. Yeah, that'd happen.

"DAZZ," he insisted. "Dazzler Davis Jr. My Pops was..."

"Dazzler Davis Sr.?" Mike finished for him. "I'm just guessing."

"You real funny, man."

E.J. picked up the package, untied the twine and carefully unwrapped the brown paper. It was a record. Frank Sinatra. Vintage vinyl. Expensive. Mike rubbed his chin, studying the album cover. E.J. cautiously slipped the record from the sleeve. It was in perfect condition. Never played. In fact, it was signed.

"Hetty - You were aces about Vega$. Doubling-down on The Sands. Love always, doll - Frank"

The woman really was everywhere, E.J. thought. Amazing. What hadn't she apparently had a hand in? Then again, E.J. thought, maybe it was better not to know.

A note then fell from the sleeve. Mike picked it up.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he read.

"The hell does that mean?" E.J. asked, studying the note. It was typewritten on a machine that, judging from the lettering, was an old model. Definitely manual; not electric.

"Pancakes," Mike said, scratching his chest. Another missive from Hetty. Always looking out for her agents.

To Dazz, he nodded towards the door. "You know your way out, right?"

* * *

><p>Their usual table at Spades. With the view of the car wash. A fine way to start the day, E.J. thought. Welcome to sunny Los Angeles.<p>

Without even greeting them, Vi the Waitress slipped over and set coffee before them. Coffee black for the Hot Shot. Coffee clean spoon for the Cheerleader.

"The usual, Hot Shot?" Vi asked Mike, knowing the answer.

"Nah," he mumbled. "Think I'll switch it up today."

"Blueberry pancakes it is," Vi said, scribbling on her pad. "What about you, hon?"

E.J. actually considered the menu. She liked Spades but she didn't want to pack on pounds, either. Mike obviously had the metabolism of a teenager in a growth spurt. But she cared about what she ate.

"Wheat toast," E.J. said. "And scrambled eggs."

"Health Nut Special," Vi said, taking the order. E.J. smirked up at her. Vi winked back, then left for the kitchen.

Once Vi was gone, E.J. and Mike sat silently, neither knowing exactly what to say. They'd had their work routine down. Also their Odd Couple routine. Then last night had happened.

"So I was thinking if we pooled our cash," E.J. began, in an uncharacteristically nervous tone, "we could find a bigger place. You know, one with two bedrooms and..."

"Sorry I snore," Mike said, not taking his pale green eyes off of her. "That bug you? Keep you awake?" He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Maybe I can get one of those nose-clip things."

E.J. blushed, folding her arms over her chest. She looked down at the table, then back at Mike.

"Just so you know," she said, a little smile playing at her lips, "I can totally hog the covers."

* * *

><p>"Don't forget your receipt, hon," Vi said, handing E.J. a ticket from her order pad. When E.J. looked at it, she noticed that an address was scribbled in pencil.<p>

"Hey, Vi?" E.J. began, "I think this is the wrong..."

Vi leaned close, raising an eyebrow knowingly at E.J.

"Oh yeah, hon," she said, smacking her gum as she gave E.J. a conspiratorial wink, "Hetty? Says don't be late for your appointment."


	5. Page 378

Title: Page 378  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike and E.J. plan a little road trip.

* * *

><p>"Wake up, Barrett," Mike teased, nudging E.J. as she lay sprawled in their bed, buried under the covers so that only one of her feet and some of her strawberry blonde hair showed. "You don't need any more beauty sleep."<p>

It was after 11 a.m. on Saturday and, since Hetty had given them a rare weekend off for clearing some of what she called "departmental backlog" (specifically, tracking down and then summarily cracking the heads of some AWOL goons suspected of gun-running) they'd made plans to drive up the coast and spend the night... well... somewhere. They'd find out when they got there, they decided.

"No, but you could use some, babe," she mumbled drowsily, lifting the covers as if to invite him to join her.

Mike snickered. Then he yanked all the covers off her. She lay still for a minute before slowly turning over and narrowing her eyes at Mike as she stretched and yawned.

"Uncalled for, Renko," she said, before yawning again. But then she let a little smile play at the corners of her mouth. This partnership thing was working out okay after all. Equal parts work, equal parts pleasure. Not a bad deal.

"Y'know, with most women," Mike began, taking hold of E.J.'s lower leg, "we play hell getting you _into_bed."

He gently tugged her leg, pulling her slowly off the bed. She playfully resisted by grabbing onto her pillow, burying her face in it and loudly protesting "NO."

"Here I am," Mike went on, grinning as he continued his efforts, "having to fight to get you OUT of the damn thing."

E.J. threw her pillow at him. It was her last remaining defense. Mike grimaced, smiling, when it hit him in the face. But with one final tender pull, he'd succeeded in forcing her off the bed. E.J. hit the floor next to the bed softly, shooting Mike a mock dirty look as he sat before her, still holding her leg, now draped somewhat provocatively over his shoulder.

"You gonna give me back my leg anytime soon?" E.J. teased. "Or should I get used to this position? Because I could get used to this position, actually."

Mike didn't surrender her leg, opting to caress it instead. After a minute or so of stroking E.J.'s leg and the two sharing suggestive, silent stares, Mike reached to open the top drawer of the little nightstand by the bed. From it, he removed a well-worn book and handed it to E.J.

"Page 378," Mike told her.

E.J. flipped to the page, noted what Mike was referring to and smiled back at him, raising an eyebrow seductively, before she finished her reading.

"Viparitaka... 'Reversed'..." E.J. said, leaning back against the bed to gaze at Mike. "Hmmm..."

He grinned and began caressing her leg again. Then he gave her calf a smart little slap, disengaged her leg from its position over his shoulder and got to his feet.

"Thirty minutes, Barrett," he told her, a half-smile breaking across his unshaven face. "I want you dressed and out the door." Then Mike backed out of the room, grinning mischievously.

"You're such a TEASE, Renko!" E.J. yelled after him.

"Twenty-nine minutes!" Mike called back from the living room.

E.J. yawned and stretched once more, rising from where she'd been sitting. They'd both tossed some clothes in a couple of bags the night before so she only had to get cleaned up and dress. If Mike would let her.

_Not even giving me shower time,_she thought as she brushed her teeth, picturing Mike clocking her out on the couch. She'd make him pay for that tonight when she took a nice, long, hot shower - and locked him out of the bathroom wherever they'd stay. Okay, so she'd let him join her. Eventually. She always did. But he'd have to wait until she was... "over" missing her usual morning shower routine and ready to forgive him.

Maybe she'd forgive him twice.

* * *

><p>"FIVE minutes!" Mike yelled.<p>

"Okay! OKAY!" E.J. yelled back, rushing into the living room with her travel bag. "Let's GO! I'm so _glad_ we're taking this trip to _relax_. I know I feel less _stressed_already."

Mike took the bag from her, hoisting his own over his shoulder, and bent to kiss E.J. on her forehead.

"You can sleep while I drive," he offered sweetly. She had to smile.

"Nice try," E.J. shot back jokingly, "but you woke me up so now you're stuck with my mouth the whole way. Maybe I'll ask you if we're there yet - every five miles. Or maybe I'll talk through every song on the radio. Not sure yet."

"Great," Mike sighed, knowing she probably wasn't kidding. But he didn't mind her chattering; he found it charming.

Just as they reached the door, E.J. suddenly told Mike "Wait!" and bolted for the bedroom.

"Aw, Barrett, COME ON!" Mike groused. He was starting to wonder if they'd ever hit the road. When E.J. yelled that she'd forgotten something, Mike sighed, frustrated. "We can stop and pick whatever it is up on the way!" he protested.

E.J. bounded back to where Mike stood waiting, an object tucked under her arm. Mike frowned and nodded at the object.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Something to read in the car," E.J. said brightly, revealing Mike's tattered copy of the Kama Sutra that he'd handed her earlier.

"Page 378," Mike replied, grinning.

"And 544," E.J. added.

"544? That's pretty advanced," Mike said.

"It's a long drive," E.J. answered with a wink.


	6. Sex Appeal

Title: Sex Appeal

Author: rekkidbraka

Rating: T

Pairings: EJ Barrett/Mike Renko

Category: Romance

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Spoilers: None

Summary: E.J. tries to put her finger on just what it is about Mike that turns her on.

* * *

><p>She'd been with much better-looking men. Wealthier men. Smarter men. Men who had standing in society. Men who didn't need her to remind them to hit the shower or that it was time to wash the Levi's they'd been wearing for God knew how many days.<p>

E.J. thought of all the men she'd been with. Most had been great guys. Some had been jerks. Tony had stood apart from the pack.

But none of them, not even Tony, made her feel the way Mike did.

She never knew when Mike would do something to make her fall in love with him all over again, yet he managed to always find a way, usually when he wasn't trying. Maybe that was one reason E.J. was so drawn to him. He didn't try to impress her but he did anyway. And when he did try to impress her, she often wasn't that impressed for some reason. But that only made her want Mike more. She didn't really understand it.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Barrett, check this out," Mike said to E.J., slipping on a leather kutte over his t-shirt. "Badass, huh?"<p>

Mike had been talking about getting a motorcycle. E.J. wasn't thrilled about the idea. The bike thing was Mike's latest phase, she knew, and it would probably pass. Until then, Mike would go on and on about it until he himself got tired of it. So here they were, spending the one weekend Hetty had given them off going around to bike shops, checking out the rides and the gear.

E.J. studied Mike in the leather vest.

"It's okay," she said, shrugging.

"Okay?" Mike replied, sounding a little wounded. "Barrett, c'mon!"

He modeled the kutte for her again, doing his best to look rough. Mike tossed his hair back, stroking his scratchy beard. E.J., absentmindedly rifling through some t-shirts on a rack, glanced up at him. She smiled politely and shrugged again. Mike so obviously wanted her to like him in the biker gear.

"You look hot," E.J. said, nodding decisively. "Real hot, babe."

"Aw, forget it," Mike muttered, taking off the kutte. He stalked away from E.J., heading over to look at an expensive bike he couldn't afford.

Later that afternoon when they got home, Mike flopped down on the couch, looking sadly up at the ceiling. E.J. lay down with him, snuggling against his chest.

"What's wrong, Renko?" she asked.

"I can't afford one of those bikes, Barrett," Mike said softly. "I'll never be able to. Not on what we make."

"We can save up," E.J. told him. "We'll just wait, okay? Maybe Hetty knows someone. She knows everyone."

"Maybe," Mike sighed.

E.J. felt lousy. Mike didn't want a lot of things for himself but now she got the sense that wanting the motorcycle wasn't just some phase. And they couldn't afford it. It was depressing.

"I bought you something at the shop," E.J. told him. "A surprise."

Mike frowned.

"When? I didn't see you pick anything up."

"While you were talking to the mechanic," E.J. said. She got up off the couch and brought a box over to Mike. "Here, babe. Try it on."

Mike opened the box carefully. Inside was the kutte he'd tried on at the shop. He stared quizzically at E.J., a little grin spreading over his face.

"Let's see it," she said.

Mike sat up and slipped the kutte on over his shoulders.

"Stand up so I can see it better," E.J. told him.

Mike did as she asked, flexing his arm muscles. E.J. smiled, liking what she saw. She stood and wrapped her arms around Mike's waist.

"Thought it was just 'okay' at the shop," Mike muttered, teasing her.

"I wanted a closer look," E.J. murmured, bringing her lips to Mike's. They kissed, deeply. Then E.J. added, "I told you it was hot. And it is. _You_ are."

"I can be hotter," Mike said suggestively, nuzzling her neck.

Without another word, he scooped E.J. up in his arms and carried her to their bedroom. He put her down on their bed and took off the kutte, then pulled off his t-shirt. E.J. lay back and watched as Mike stripped naked before her. When he joined her on the bed, he tenderly removed her clothes piece by piece and they made love.

E.J. was used to Mike giving her free rein over him but this time, she wanted him to be in control of things. She ran her hands down Mike's back as he moved inside her, clutching him as if she'd never let him go. Mike knew what E.J. enjoyed when they were together; he took his time, knowing she wasn't in any hurry for him to finish.

Afterward, E.J. nuzzled Mike's nose with hers. She was feeling as close to him as she ever had. These were the moments she loved most with Mike, even more than when they were making love because they were so intimate. This was when she felt like they were truly a couple.

"You're sexy as a biker," E.J. told him. "Now we just need to get you a bike."

Mike took in a deep breath, thinking it over. He closed his eyes.

"Ahhh... No big deal," he sighed. "Someday. We'll see."

"When you get it," E.J. persisted, trying to keep Mike positive on the idea of getting his motorcycle, "do I get to ride with you?"

"Always," Mike told her, really meaning it.

"Sweet!" E.J. said, smiling.

"I'll let _you_ ride _me_ around, Barrett," Mike said, pushing E.J.'s hair away from her face.

"You already do that, Renko," E.J. teased, licking her teeth with her tongue.

He kissed her again, snickering at her dirty little joke, and lay back, holding her until they were both asleep.

* * *

><p>Then there were the little things Mike did that E.J. found charming. They weren't done on purpose; Mike usually fumbled his way into them. To anyone but E.J., they probably seemed silly but to her, they were just so... Mike. Which is why they touched her.<p>

* * *

><p>E.J. sat in the coffee shop, waiting for Mike to show. They were meeting after a day apart. She'd had what felt like endless meetings with Hetty and Vance, who'd flown in from D.C. Mike had been on recon with Kensi and Deeks.<p>

Now she looked at her iPhone. Mike was late. E.J. sighed; this was par for the course.

Just then E.J. had the sense that someone was watching her. She turned to glance out the coffee shop's large plate glass window and saw Mike plastered up against the glass, making a silly face. The other people in the coffee shop looked horrified but E.J. just laughed, motioning for Mike to come inside and join her. She loved it when he played with her this way.

"Hey, babe," she said, greeting him with a huge smile, "miss me?"

Mike plopped down next to E.J. on the coffee shop's loveseat. He pushed back his hair with both hands, closing his eyes as he let out a little growl. It had been a tiring day.

"Long stakeout," he told E.J. "Deeks is freakin' crazy."

"Poor baby," E.J. said soothingly. "I was thinking about you today. During one of my sixteen meetings."

"Oh, yeah? What were you thinking, Barrett?" Mike asked, a little grin playing at his mouth.

"I was thinking how we could salvage tonight, Renko," E.J. replied, "after being separated all day long."

"You want coffee? Or you ready to go?" Mike asked.

E.J. answered by taking his hand and getting up from the loveseat. Mike followed suit.

"Your chariot awaits, Princess," he told E.J., smirking. She playfully punched his arm.

Once they were in Mike's car, E.J. couldn't take her eyes off him. She stared at him from the passenger seat, her eyes taking in everything about Mike.

"What?" he asked, feeling a little embarrassed by the sudden full-on attention.

"Nothing," E.J. said, her eyes still all over him. Her hand made its way to his thigh.

Mike cleared his throat.

"We're almost home," he told her.

E.J. said nothing, continuing only to stroke Mike's thigh and gaze at him as he drove down the now-darkened street.

"Aw, _hell_," he muttered, yanking the car off into a deserted, dark parking lot behind an abandoned shopping plaza. Mike killed the engine and pushed E.J. down on the long leather front seat, hastily working to unzip his jeans. He gave silent thanks for the fact that she was wearing a skirt.

"Mike..." E.J. whispered breathlessly in his ear as he positioned himself above her, "please..."

He did as she asked, making love to her quickly and expertly in the small space of the car. It was thrilling, knowing that they shouldn't be doing it — and yet they were.

When they finished, Mike rested his head against the back of the driver's seat, breathing the night air in deeply. The car windows were open; a slightly cool early autumn breeze blew through. E.J.'s head was in Mike's lap. She was half-asleep.

"What was that for?" Mike asked, stroking E.J.'s hair with his hand. He loved the feel of her hair, soft and clean, tangled in his fingers.

E.J. stretched, yawning. Making love to Mike always left her nice and sleepy.

"You make cute silly faces," she said drowsily.

* * *

><p>And sometimes E.J. just wanted to see if she could compete with the Dodgers.<p>

* * *

><p>"DAMMIT TO HELL, KEMP, QUIT STRIKING OUT!"<p>

Mike was yelling at the TV again. Not a good sign.

"Here, babe, you need another beer," E.J. said, bringing Mike a cold brew from the refrigerator. He shooed her away.

An even worse sign — Mike refusing beer.

E.J. took a seat by Mike on the couch, cracking open the bottle of beer. She took a swig. Mike was sitting up, hunched over, his eyes glued to the television set. The Dodgers were down two runs with three men on base in the bottom of the 8th. There were two outs. Andre Ethier was their last hope in the inning.

One strike.

"C'MON, ETHIER! WHAT THE HELL, MAN?"

Two strikes.

"JESUS CHRIST, ARE YOU JUST SWINGING AT ANYTHING? THAT WAS WAY OUTSIDE, DAMMIT!"

And... strikeout.

"STUPID FREAKIN' DODGERS!"

Mike hurled one of the sofa pillows at the TV. He was snarling with rage.

E.J. proffered the beer again. Mike glared at her, pouting.

This time, he grabbed it and downed it in one long gulp.

"C'mon, Renko," E.J. said tenderly. "Let me make you feel better."

"I'm watching the game, Barrett," Mike grumbled.

"You can watch the game while I make you feel better," E.J. suggested.

"I'm not in the mood," Mike muttered.

"I just want to hold you, OK?" E.J. said.

"Whatever," Mike said, lying back on the couch. E.J. crawled onto him, settling herself against his body.

"So the Dodgers have another shot in the 9th," she said matter-of-factly. "They can get it done."

"Bottom of the order coming up," Mike mumbled. "Worst hitters in the lineup."

"Man, aren't you Mister 'Go Team'?" E.J. said. "Dodgers win. I'm sure of it."

Mike snorted.

"Phillies have the best pitchers in the NL. Halladay's still in there. Gonna pitch a complete game."

E.J. patted Mike's chest.

"Dodgers win. I'm telling you."

Mike sneered.

"Yeah? And what if they don't?"

E.J. was now playing with the whiskers of Mike's stubbly beard.

"If they lose, you get to have your way with me."

Mike smiled.

"What if you're right and they win?"

E.J. brought her lips to his.

"I get to have my way with you."

Mike kissed her, hard. Suddenly, the game wasn't all that important.

He realized he was going to win, even if the Dodgers didn't.

Once again, E.J. had nailed it and Los Angeles rallied for the victory.

"You wanna bet me again?" she asked breathlessly as Mike's mouth explored her neck.

"Uhh-uhh..." Mike moaned, feeling E.J.'s hands caressing his back. He was aching for her. She made him crazy with desire.

Her hands moved to unzip his jeans. They weren't going to make it to the bedroom this time.

* * *

><p>Whatever it was about Mike that kept her wanting him, E.J. thought as she studied him laying on the sofa watching TV, the guy had it in spades. She'd never wanted one man so completely. Mike fascinated her.<p>

Mike caught E.J. watching him, which always managed to slightly embarrass her, and now he was going to tease her relentlessly about it. This was how they played.

"Enjoying the view, Barrett?" he asked, snickering.

E.J. rolled her eyes.

"I'd like it more if it had bothered to shower today, Renko," she shot back, smirking.

Mike snorted out a little laugh.

"I'm trying to conserve water. Just doing my part to save our natural resources," Mike joked.

"Oh, is that it?" E.J. asked sarcastically. "Well, who knew you were such an environmentalist? I'm learning so many new things about you every day."

Mike raised an eyebrow at her.

"You could learn more right now if you want to," he said suggestively.

E.J. met his gaze with a flat look.

"Sorry," she said. "Not in the mood to get my hands dirty."

Mike got up from the couch, pulling off his t-shirt. He flung it over at E.J.

"You in the mood to get your hands clean?"

E.J. grinned, licking her teeth with her tongue.

"We gonna conserve some precious resources together, Renko?"

Mike held out his hand. E.J. took it and he pulled her up from where she'd been sitting in his recliner.

"Hell, no," Mike told her, leading her towards the shower. "We're gonna waste energy like crazy, Barrett."


	7. Judas

Title: Judas  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: It's Mike's turn to be jealous when his old friend pursues E.J.

* * *

><p>"Dammit, Renko, STOP drinking the milk out of the CARTON!"<p>

E.J. was truly pissed. She loved Mike. Obviously, since she was with him. But some of his bad habits made her want to pull her hair out — no, HIS hair out. He'd sworn he wasn't sneaking sips out of the milk carton but E.J. wasn't fooled. The milk was slowly somehow draining itself out of the carton when nobody had been pouring any. Was it magically disappearing? Right.

"I'm NOT! What the hell are you talking about, Barrett?" Mike protested, coming out of the bedroom. He zipped up his jeans and finished toweling off his chest, shoulders and hair. How could E.J. already be raging at him? They'd just gotten out of the shower. He was still wet. In certain places.

"THIS!" E.J. thrust the milk carton towards Mike. "Yesterday, it was full. Today, it's half-full. I had one glass last night before bed. ONE."

"Must've been a hell of a glass," Mike joked. E.J. narrowed her eyes at him, not amused.

"Listen, jerk..." E.J. began.

Just then an unfamiliar voice cut her off.

"Hey, can you guys keep it down over there? I'm trying to get some shuteye."

E.J. looked shocked, nearly dropping the milk carton. She instinctively went for her gun, only to find that, of course, she didn't have it handy.

But Mike wasn't surprised at the voice. He knew it well. And he wasn't surprised that the guy had broken into the apartment. Actually, he hadn't broken in; he apparently still had a key.

A man's head popped up from under a mound of blankets on the couch. He rubbed at his choppy blond hair and took a minute to wake up, staring at the room. His blue eyes fixed on E.J. for a long time, checking her out from head to toe. She pulled her robe tighter against her, glaring at Mike. Then the man's eyes met Mike's and the man broke into a broad grin.

"MIKEY!"

The man on the couch lifted up both his arms as if he were signaling a football touchdown. E.J. looked at him as if he were crazy (and she wasn't sure that he wasn't).

"Hey... Kurt," Mike said, yawning, before he toasted his old best friend and roommate with a mug of hot coffee. 

* * *

><p>"How long has he been out there? And how did he get in?" E.J. asked Mike as she hurriedly dressed in their bedroom. Then another, more horrifying thought crossed her mind. "Did he HEAR us? Oh my God. He heard us. He HAD to hear us." Where was her bra? The black one? No, the other black one...<p>

"He didn't hear us," Mike said laconically, enjoying the view as E.J. rummaged through her lingerie. "He can sleep through anything."

"He was right OUT there!" E.J. hissed, snapping on her black bra of choice.

Mike rolled his eyes.

"So what? We were roommates for two years. He's used to hearing me..."

Mike stopped himself. He'd almost told E.J. a little too much about his days as a single guy.

"Hearing you what?" E.J. wanted to know.

She knew Mike had been with a lot of women before she met him. But she couldn't say too much, given her own history. Still, the idea of Mike with other women irritated her. It was silly but she couldn't help feeling jealous. She wanted to be the only woman in Mike's life. She was — now — but sometimes she wished she could've met Mike when she was younger, had him all to herself for years...

"Sing in the shower," Mike replied, quite seriously.

E.J. finished buttoning her shirt, casting a sarcastic glance over at Mike.

"Oh, is that the code you guys used for 'getting laid'?" E.J. asked, smirking.

"Yeah, kind of," Mike admitted.

"God, you're lame... MIKEY," E.J. told him, shaking her head. Then she headed back out into the living room. 

* * *

><p>"So... Kurt," E.J. began, pouring herself a cup of coffee, "what brings you here? Seriously. What brings you here? Like, how'd you get in last night?"<p>

Kurt, who'd already helped himself to coffee — and lots of other things out of E.J.'s refrigerator — finished chewing on a bagel before answering. E.J. gritted her teeth; she'd been saving that bagel for her own breakfast.

"Had my old key," Kurt muttered, sucking down some coffee. The milk carton that she'd replaced in the refrigerator was out on the counter. Kurt reached for it and casually drained it, tossing it basketball-style at the trashcan.

He missed.

"DAMN!" Kurt yelled, startling E.J. so that she nearly spilled hot coffee all over herself. "The Lakers LOSE the Championship!"

E.J. made a mental note to apologize to Mike for accusing him of drinking the milk out of the carton. Also to have the locks changed. That day. 

* * *

><p>"Get him OUT of my house," E.J. told Mike as they headed into the Dead Letter Office. "TODAY!"<p>

"It's OUR house and it's not a HOUSE, it's an APARTMENT," Mike corrected.

E.J. whipped around, jaw clenched in anger. Mike grimaced slightly. Getting cute with her wasn't going to help him. Or Kurt.

"Look, he's not like some stray dog off the street," Mike said in Kurt's defense.

"You're right," E.J. tersely agreed. "A stray dog would have better table manners."

"The guy probably has nowhere to go," Mike sighed. "I can't just kick him out."

"I can, MIKEY," E.J. said sharply. "And I will." 

* * *

><p>When E.J. entered the apartment, she needed only one glance around the living room  kitchen area before she was ready to kill Kurt.

The place looked like it had when Mike lived there alone — before she'd moved in and given it an extreme cleanliness makeover.

Since he'd cleaned out their fridge, Kurt had ordered pizza and left the box balanced precariously between the sofa and coffee table (on which various pizza crusts lay strewn). Empty beer bottles littered the floor, couch and tables. The creep had even gone through her records and Mike's, taking out albums and tossing them on the floor, not bothering to replace them in their sleeves or put them back in order.

Seething with fury, E.J. trembled as she worked to control herself. But it wasn't happening.

"KURT!" she screamed. "GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!"

Where was the SOB?

"NOW, DAMMIT!" E.J. yelled. The half-eaten pizza crusts seemed to mock her from where they lay on the coffee table. She'd just cleaned it the day before.

"Oh, hey, what's up?"

E.J.'s attention turned quickly from the crusts on the table to Kurt, who leaned against the doorway to HER bedroom — soaking wet and wearing only a towel around his waist. Obviously, he'd been in the shower. For all his apparent terrible eating and drinking habits, he was surprisingly muscular and E.J. found herself too surprised to speak.

Kurt flexed his shoulders and eyed her up and down again, letting a little smile play at the corner of his mouth.

"You, uh, like what you see? I could show you more."

He nodded down towards the towel at his waist.

E.J. narrowed her eyes at Kurt. Mike was too nice to kick him out and this was the kind of "friend" the guy was?

"When you're finished dripping water all over my hardwood floors," E.J. hissed, her face a mask of stone, "clean up my living room before Mike gets home. I want everything in here spotless so that when he's done kicking your ass we won't have too much of a mess to take care of. Then get the HELL out."

With that, she turned and headed out the door. 

* * *

><p>"You're NOT pissed?" E.J. said, unable to believe what she was hearing from Mike. "Are you KIDDING me? He was THIS close to dropping that towel!"<p>

"He's an idiot," Mike mumbled. But secretly, he wanted to murder Kurt for hitting on E.J.

E.J. shook her head, stunned.

"Unbelievable," she said, really shocked at how Mike was reacting to what she'd told him. 

* * *

><p>As they approached the apartment, E.J. suddenly found that she was frightened by Mike's lack of reaction to Kurt's come-on to her.<p>

"Mike, wait," she told him, stopping him before he opened the door. "I already told him to leave so don't... Just let it go, okay? As long as he's gone and he STAYS gone, I don't care."

"I told you I'm not mad," Mike reminded her. But E.J. didn't believe he was that cool with what had happened.

"Okay," E.J. said quietly.

Upon entering their apartment, E.J. was pleasantly surprised, this time, to find that Kurt had done as she said and left the place spotless. Maybe things would be alright after all.

Or not.

Kurt himself hadn't bothered to leave. E.J. flashed him a dirty look. He ignored it — and her.

"Mike? Look, buddy, I just want to apologize to you and E.J. here for being a jerk earlier," Kurt began in a tone that was much too casual for E.J.'s liking. "The truth is, I had a fight with my lady last night and I was just thinking, you know, 'I'll show HER' and then I let things get WAY out of hand, man..."

E.J. gritted her teeth again. Did this guy ever stop lying? Couldn't Mike see through him? He saw through every other scumbag they dealt with.

"Uh huh," Mike agreed. Turning to E.J., he said, "Hey, baby, can you give Kurt and me a couple minutes here?"

E.J. swallowed hard. This was just what she DIDN'T want.

"Sure," she said weakly, hating Kurt for causing all this. Again, she shot him a cold glance. Again, he ignored her.

When E.J. had closed the door to the bedroom, Mike leaned in close to where Kurt sat at the kitchen counter.

"You ever pull something with E.J. again like you did today," Mike whispered so that only Kurt could hear, "and I promise you, there won't be enough of you left to ID for your own funeral, you got me... buddy?" 

* * *

><p>"Jackass," Mike muttered, watching a young guy work the women at the bar.<p>

"You're a barrel of laughs tonight, babe, you know that?" E.J. said, shaking her head dismissively at Mike. "Can't you lighten up for a while?"

"I don't like it when guys hit on you," Mike growled.

"Guys?" E.J. asked.

"Yeah, guys," Mike said, frowning. His eyes were locked on the young guy.

"Guys meaning Kurt?"

"Yeah," Mike said absentmindedly.

"Jealous?" E.J. smirked up at Mike. His being angry over Kurt's coming onto her was turning E.J. on in a big way, even though the actual thought of Kurt's coming onto her still grossed her out.

"He'll never pull that again," Mike warned. "He makes a move on you again, his ass is MINE."

"Wow..." E.J. teased, letting a smile play at the corners of her mouth. "You're really hot for his ass, aren't you? Sorry I broke up a sure thing between you two."

Mike shot her a dirty look. E.J. responded by pressing against him and nuzzling Mike's neck.

"Back off, Barrett," Mike muttered.

"You don't scare me, Renko," E.J. replied, licking her lips. She wanted Mike. Now. Desperately.

"I should scare you," Mike told her. "You should be afraid."

"Why, MIKEY? You all out of Mr. Bubble?" E.J. said sarcastically.

"Now that was just cruel," Mike said, pretending to be hurt.

E.J. couldn't wait to get Mike in bed. Tonight was going to be epic. "Mikey"... She'd have some more fun with that. Later.

Or not. Kurt was still camping on their couch. They'd told him they were going out for the night but E.J. hadn't heard Mike tell him explicitly to get out of their apartment. She'd decided against speaking to Kurt again.

E.J. sighed. This damn Kurt guy was ruining everything. So much for epic. 

* * *

><p>"He'd better be gone," Mike muttered as he and E.J. reached their apartment door. Having stewed over the thought of Kurt making a move on E.J., Mike was now thoroughly pissed at his old "friend" and just liquored up enough to do something about it.<p>

"If he's not, will you please just let it GO tonight and we'll get him out in the morning, okay?" E.J. asked Mike quite seriously. "I mean it. Can you NOT get in a fistfight with Kurt? Please? He's so not worth it. Promise me we're just going to bed or I am NOT opening this door!"

"Fine," Mike said grouchily. His head was starting to ache from all the drinking. "I won't do anything. Or say anything. I'll act like a freakin' wuss to make you happy."

E.J. sighed, frustrated.

"It doesn't make me happy," she told Mike as she opened the door. "Nothing about this damn day has made me happy."

Once inside, E.J. and Mike noticed that their apartment was once again spotlessly clean. There was no mess. There was no Kurt. What there was, however, was a note on the coffee table for them.

E.J. picked it up and read it. Then she handed it to Mike, who looked it over.

"'Thanks for the hospitality, bro? Gotta split?' That's ALL?" E.J. snapped. Mike wadded up the note and tossed it towards the kitchen wastebasket. It banked off the rim and fell on the floor.

"Thank GOD," Mike groaned.

"Okay, your so-called 'friend' put us both through absolute hell today and now he's all 'gotta split'? I don't think so!" E.J. went on, furious.

"You want him back here? On our couch? In our lives?" Mike asked.

"No way," E.J. said.

"Then will you please... just... let... it... GO?" Mike moaned.

"Fine," E.J. said grouchily. "I'll act like a freakin' wuss to make you happy." She stalked off to the bedroom in a huff.

"Thank God," Mike groaned, turning off the lights.


	8. But Not Tonight

Title: But Not Tonight  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike's old undercover alias clashes with... E.J.'s.

* * *

><p>Jagged glass from the smashed beer bottle cut just deeply enough into his forearm to draw blood, enraging him. Before he'd just been pissed at the little piece of tail who'd gotten mouthy with him in the pool hall; now he wanted to hurt her for everyone to see.<p>

"BITCH!" he yelled, snarling as he yanked his arm away. She tossed the bottle over her shoulder and laughed like this was nothing. And to her, it was.

She grabbed her crotch, thrusting it towards him as she stared him down — a full-on insult. The pool hall went deadly silent. He was a regular here. Nobody challenged him. Nobody.

"Grow a pair, _jackass_," she hissed sarcastically, smirking. Then she snickered again, tossed back her long hair and turned to make a dramatic exit, licking her teeth with her tongue.

Game. Set. Match.

She was nearly to the door when he slammed her against the wall from behind, wrapping his bloody arm around her neck. She struggled for air; he was strangling her. He pressed the weight of his body into hers so that she was pinned to the wall, unable to move. She gasped, able only to let out a choked cry.

"You wanna _play_, baby? _Huh?_" he whispered hatefully into her ear. She couldn't breathe. He pressed into her again.

He glanced furtively over his shoulder. The pool hall remained silent. Nobody moved to stop him. Or to help this chick.

"I think we oughta take this back to _my_ place," he said, loud enough for the men (and women) in the bar to hear. "You _like_ that, honey? Come _home_ with me? HUH?" He pressed his hips hard into her, grinding suggestively. Now he'd pulled her arm behind her back. His intent for her was clear. She was hyperventilating. She'd pushed him too far.

He slammed her into the wall once more, then yanked her arm, pulling her towards the door with him. She resisted but he grabbed her neck, forcing back her head. He smiled as he brought his face near hers.

"DON'T fight me," he warned her, his voice low and threatening. She trembled, swallowing hard. She wasn't going to escape him. Nobody was going to help her. They were going to let him take her away, do whatever to her.

And then he pulled her out into the night, pushed her into his car and they roared out of the parking lot. She screamed, calling him every kind of S.O.B. in the book. The whole pool hall heard but nobody stepped up to defend her.

Inside the pool hall, there was a short, continued silence when it was all over. Hardened bikers and their women sat, stunned, staring into their drinks. Gradually, the noise returned. But nothing was normal about it.

* * *

><p>"Damn, Barrett," Mike said as they rocketed down a side street, "Go a little easier with the bottle next time, maybe? That freakin' HURT."<p>

E.J., rubbing her neck, shot Mike a dirty look from the passenger's seat.

"Go a little EASIER?" she retorted angrily. "You almost decapitated me, Renko! It was necessary to throw me into the wall and try to strangle me? What the HELL?"

Mike scowled back at her.

"You were making me look like a... That little _crotch-grab_ of yours? _'Grow a pair, jackass'?_ If I didn't go hard on you in front of all those guys and their girlfriends, you'd be picking out my casket next week," Mike said, frustrated. "Look, Zane Miller is the most badass alias I have, OK? He can't be getting his ass kicked by some chick in a bar."

E.J. clenched her jaw, unhappy with what she was hearing.

"And what about MY alias? SHE has to wimp out so your guy can be king douchebag? I don't _think _so. Sorry, ZANE, but Cat's not backing down. So you — or Zane — better come up with a good explanation for why he WASN'T able to rape her tonight."

Mike sighed. He was pissed, too. He needed E.J. with him on this. She wasn't budging.

"C'mon, E.J." Mike pleaded, "Zane's a TERRIBLE guy. I freaking HATE him. He's a sick bastard. But, I mean..." Mike searched for the words. He despised what he was about to have to say to the woman he loved. "He WOULD... rape... Cat. No matter how tough she is. He'd do it. And he wouldn't... give a damn." Mike was disgusted with Zane's persona. But he'd had to create it. Zane was necessary for taking down the worst of the worst.

E.J. was staring at Mike as if he were covered in filth. He felt as if he were.

"Not happening," she said decisively. "Zane's not raping Cat Halsey. Not tonight, not ever."

They drove home in silence.

* * *

><p>"Zane... You, uh... You okay, man?"<p>

Randy, the bartender at the pool hall, was leery of approaching his most psycho customer. But he felt as if he and Zane had bonded. Somewhat. As much as a guy could bond with a convicted murderer who'd been in and out of prison.

Zane glared up at him. He'd just sat down in his usual spot at the end of the bar. He hated being disturbed.

"The HELL's that mean?"

Randy poured him a whisky. Zane drained it.

"Nothing, man. Just..."

The pool hall was packed again. But the seat next to Zane was, as usual, empty.

And then it wasn't.

"Whatever he's having, _double _mine."

Randy blanched white, then looked to Zane for approval.

"Your EARS don't work, _jackass_?"

Zane snarled into his empty shot glass. Randy filled the double whisky order, then refilled Zane's glass. Then he hurried down the bar to escape.

"It's not gonna work, you know," Zane said under his breath.

"Give it a shot," Cat told him quietly.

The pool hall regulars were giving the two of them odd looks, but doing so quickly and carefully. Nobody wanted to incite Zane's wrath.

Still, seeing Zane Miller and the woman he'd dragged from the bar together was stunning.

What had happened after they'd left?

Everyone wanted to know. But nobody dared to ask.

* * *

><p>Finally, after Zane and Cat had matched each other shot for shot a couple of hours in, Randy the Bartender took a deep breath and, when Cat had rudely excused herself to "take a piss," asked Zane what the deal was.<p>

Zane stared him down, his green eyes cold. Then he smirked, rubbing his patchy beard with his thumb and index finger thoughtfully.

"Hey, man, she's _crazy_," Zane said to Randy, "Took her back to my place and she went damn _insane_ on my ass. Hell, she WANTED it rough. Her name's _Cat_, dude. That right there oughta tell you she's got one hell of a p..."

"Lemme know when you and your _boyfriend_ are done and then maybe we can give it another shot. Unless you're too hot for _him_ to get it up for _me_," Cat said to Zane, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She narrowed her eyes at Randy. "Get the HELL out of here, _flamer_."

"You better shut the HELL up!" Zane snapped, suddenly pissed off. "You ain't my _bitch_, BITCH!"

Cat threw the rest of her drink in Zane's face. He grabbed her wrist. She slapped him with the other hand. He grabbed that one. They were locked in a fierce staredown. The other people at the bar pretended not to notice. Nobody wanted to draw their attention.

Randy, not wanting trouble with Cat after seeing what she could do with a beer bottle the previous night, slithered back down the bar.

"Take your DAMN hands off me!" Cat yelled at Zane. Her eyes searched his. They had to work this out. Fast.

"That ain't what you said last night," Zane replied, curling his lip into a sneer. He was giving her an out. Sort of.

"I said a _lot _of dumbass things then," Cat shot back. Zane held her wrists in his hands but loosened his grip.

Cat took the hint. She altered her tone. Slightly.

"You gonna be my human handcuffs all night or we gonna throw back some more?"

Cat was staring Zane down, but a little grin played at the corners of her mouth.

Zane quickly glanced around, taking stock of the room. Everyone was afraid of what was coming next between Cat and him. Another bar brawl? Who else might get caught up in their fight? Nobody wanted to, no matter how hard they were trying to look.

Zane pushed Cat's wrists away. He turned back towards the bar, signaling Randy.

"Two more, bro."

"And speed it up, _slowass_!" Cat added, just for Randy's benefit.

* * *

><p>"Lay off Randy some, will you?" Mike said to E.J. that night as they lay in bed. "He's my best source in that place."<p>

"I can't let Cat be all sweet on him," E.J. argued. "She's never nice. To anyone."

"She was nice to Zane last night — obviously," Mike teased.

"I thought you were gonna tell Randy she was psycho," E.J. said.

"Yeah, I did. Really played that up. But I mean, if they did it — and if she was hanging out with Zane at the bar tonight — then... you know... they connected on some level," Mike reasoned.

E.J. looked over at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"They 'connected'? What the hell does that even _mean_, Renko? 'Connected'? I can think of one way Cat and Zane 'connected' that's pretty basic. Except for the fact that they don't actually exist to 'connect' — physically or emotionally or whatever."

Mike snarled back at her, rolling his eyes.

"No freaking kidding, Barrett. I'm just mapping out a backstory so we're consistent. People were looking at us tonight. Like, 'what the hell are THEY doing together?' The whole damn bar saw me drag you outta there last night. And then you're throwing down with me? Something had to have happened, right? So I told Randy that you're a freak in the bedroom. But c'mon — Zane and Cat? If they were real? That would've been a hell of a one-on-one, huh?"

E.J. thought it over for a minute. Then she looked back over at Mike.

"You told Randy that _I'm_ a freak in the bedroom?"

Mike frowned, confused.

"No. That Cat is. Why?"

E.J. sighed, staring at the ceiling.

"Forget it. Go to sleep."

* * *

><p>After a couple of weeks, when they'd gathered all the intel they'd need for an upcoming job, Mike and E.J. found themselves saying goodbye to their aliases — for a while, anyway. Zane and Cat had stopped frequenting the biker bar.<p>

For a while, anyway.

"Looks like Zane's going back to prison. Nice long stretch," Mike told E.J. "Be a while before he gets parole."

"So sad," she sighed, shaking her head. "And Cat's skipping town before the cops come a-calling. That girl just never can stay in one place for too long. Not her M.O."

"Damn shame," Mike agreed. "Guess she won't be coming to see Zane for any conjugal visitation, then, huh?"

"Cat Halsey? Willingly walk into a place with prison cells and armed guards? Not on your life, man. Not even for Zane." E.J. smirked, letting out a little snicker at the thought.

"Wow. And Zane thought he might actually be kind of liking this chick. Sounds like the feeling isn't mutual." Mike sighed, shrugging.

"Cat's into him. That's kind of a first for her," E.J. said. "Maybe if she can beat whatever rap has her on the run this time, she'll check in with Zane. It could be a while, though. But with Cat, you should never say never."

"Zane's gonna be cooling his heels in the joint," Mike told E.J. solemnly. "I wonder if he'll get religion this time around. Last time, he took to reading law textbooks in the library. He gets bored."

"Well, if he starts getting all preachy, Cat's going to bag him. She likes him rough," E.J. hinted to Mike, winking.

"Zane's not stupid. He reads. He wants to learn things. He just likes being a badass, too. So he ends up in trouble. But what if someday he wants to change? Cat's never gonna want to change?" Mike raised an eyebrow at E.J. She studied him coolly.

"Hmmm... Can't say. Probably," E.J. admitted. "Sometimes I think she's just trying to see if she can find the one guy she can push and push who'll push back harder. I think she might have."

"Cat should visit Zane in prison. He misses her, even if he would never tell her," Mike said sadly.

"Oh, she'll find a way to get in touch with him," E.J. assured him. "She's a sucker for a hot guy who can match her whisky for whisky."

"What if Zane swears off drinking while he's locked up?" Mike asked.

They both laughed at that one.

"Right. And Cat will swear off guys," E.J. teased.

"She _better_," Mike said defensively. "Zane's the jealous type. No other dude better lay a hand on _his_ woman."

"Whoa!" E.J. said. "_His_ woman? They never made it official."

"He took Cat home two nights in a row. For Zane, that's practically being engaged," Mike replied.

"Wow. What a catch," E.J. said, pursing her lips.

"Hey, that's not fair," Mike protested. "You just said Cat skips town all the time. C'mon..."

"Yeah, I know..." E.J. sighed. "I feel sorry for her. Never able to settle down. It's nice, you know, being grounded. Having someone." She gave Mike a little kiss. He smiled.

"I keep trying to tell Zane the same thing," he said, pulling E.J. into his arms.


	9. Angeles

Title: Angeles  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: E.J. and Mike suffer through a long, hot night.

* * *

><p><strong>11:45 p.m.<strong>

They'd called about the air conditioning three or four times that day to no avail. The landlord had only said he was "working on it." But the A/C remained out of commission. And E.J. and Mike were suffering the consequences.

"God, I have NEVER been this hot," E.J. moaned. "Not even in Spain."

"I don't buy that, Barrett," Mike said drowsily. "I bet you've always been hot."

E.J. barely had the energy to reach across the bed and jokingly smack Mike on his chest. But she made the effort. Mike grunted, smiling.

"Shut up, Renko, you know what I mean," she sighed.

"Maybe you are hotter now," Mike agreed, "because you're with me."

"Have I gotta smack you again?" E.J. threatened.

"Mmmmhhh..." Mike groaned. Sweat dripped from every pore of his body, it seemed. This was miserable.

"Yeah," E.J. sighed, knowing she couldn't manage it. "Not happening." She said a silent prayer for the air conditioning to come on.

It didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>1:30 a.m.<strong>

E.J. and Mike had now stripped down to the most bare essentials to combat the heat. He wore only his boxer briefs; she, her panties and bra.

Mike, barely awake yet unable to sleep due to the stifling heat, glanced over at E.J.

"If this was a normal night, we'd be doing it right now," he muttered.

E.J. didn't bother to open her eyes. She didn't have the energy.

"If this was a normal night," she murmured back, "we'd have air conditioning."

* * *

><p><strong>2:17 a.m.<strong>

"What the hell are you doing, Renko?" E.J. wanted to know. She yawned, stumbling into the kitchen. Maybe a glass of water would help. Sort of. A little. She hoped.

The light from inside the refrigerator illuminated Mike, who sat on the floor cross-legged. He was resting his head awkwardly against one of the lower trays.

"Cooling off, Barrett," Mike sighed. He'd almost fallen asleep. E.J. had awakened him.

Now she stood over him, staring down at Mike with his head in the refrigerator. This was pitiful. It was pathetic. It was quite possibly the silliest thing she'd ever seen him do and that was saying something.

"Move over," E.J. told him, getting down onto the floor.

* * *

><p><strong>3:03 a.m.<strong>

"We couldn't sleep in the fridge all night," E.J. reasoned.

"We could, too," Mike whined. He was starting to sweat again.

"The beer was getting hot," E.J. reminded him.

"We drank it all," Mike reminded her.

"What about the eggs?" E.J. said.

"Screw the eggs," Mike snarled.

"I wouldn't be able to make you an omelet for breakfast," E.J. replied.

"You've never done that," Mike said.

"We couldn't sleep in the fridge all night," E.J. reasoned.

"I'm taking off my shorts," Mike told her.

"Stay on your side of the bed," E.J. said, yawning.

"I will. It's closer to the fridge," Mike answered, yanking off his underwear and giving it a fierce toss across the room. Then he rolled onto his stomach and was soon sound asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>4:28 a.m.<strong>

"Baby?" Mike said hoarsely. He'd dozed off, only to now awaken with a start. He lay on his stomach, sweating into the mattress. He hadn't moved an inch and he felt groggy and heavy from the heat. No A/C yet. Damn.

"Mmmm?" E.J. groaned, still mostly asleep.

"Where'd your clothes go?"

Mike studied E.J. in the moonlight. She was now completely naked.

"Mmmm..." E.J. groaned again. Then she fell back into a deep slumber.

Mike buried his face in his pillow, frowning. Something was causing his stomach to itch. He rolled over onto his side for a quick scratch and plucked E.J.'s bra and panties from where he'd been sprawled on the mattress.

_How the hell did she do that?_ he wondered. Shrugging, he chalked it up to her usual ingenuity, tossed her lingerie off the bed and went back to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>5:36 a.m.<strong>

The shivering woke her up. She was freezing.

"Mike?"

E.J. rolled over to where Mike lay dead to the world. His skin, like hers, was covered in goosebumps. But he was too out of it to notice.

The air conditioning was back on. With a vengeance.

E.J. yanked up the sheets and quilts from the floor, where she and Mike had unceremoniously tossed them the night before, and hurriedly replaced them on the bed. She burrowed into Mike's body for warmth. It wasn't enough. She got back up and put on an old NCIS sweatshirt and some socks. That helped. Then she snuggled against Mike again. Better. Much better.

All the activity stirred Mike, who sat up, finding himself buried under sheets, quilts and the newly-bundled up E.J.

"What the hell? It's freezing in here," he groused.

"The A/C's back," E.J. said, curling up into an even tighter little ball. She was starting to get comfortably warm now.

"Well, now it's too cold. I'm turning it off," Mike muttered.

"You do and you'll sleep in the fridge from now on," E.J. told him.

"It's cold in this _bed_, too," Mike said pointedly.

"Then put on some damn pants," E.J. snapped, yawning. Within minutes she was asleep.


	10. Baia

Title: Baia  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: EJ and Mike handle a hairy situation down South America way.

* * *

><p>Mike squinted at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror, snarling at his scruffy beard. He liked the way it looked but it was getting too scratchy. For this job, anyway. The heat was relentless, day and night.<p>

With a sigh and a shrug, he picked up the razor he carried in his travel kit. Not much shaving cream left; he frowned, shaking the can.

"DON'T!"

Her voice startled him, though it really shouldn't have.

They had this argument whenever he wanted to settle in for a good shave.

E.J. was dead set against Mike getting rid of his beard and she always protested — loudly and passionately — that without his stubble, Mike looked less threatening. She needed him to look, as she'd once said, "like a goon" for their line of work.

But Mike knew the real reason his boss/partner/girlfriend didn't want to see his beard gone.

When they made love, E.J. stroked his chin and cheeks extravagantly, the sensation of Mike's beard arousing her in ways she could never quite explain to him when he asked. He'd learned, though, that caressing any area of her skin with his stubble made E.J. nearly lose control and so usually the beard or some kind of stubble was ever-present. Anything to please her.

Because when E.J. was pleased, she made certain that Mike was, too. And she was good at keeping Mike happy.

So he put his razor and shaving cream back in the travel kit. E.J. turned Mike towards her, snaking her arms around his waist as she nestled her head against his chest. They had a few hours before they really had to start "working."

And within a few minutes of being pulled back down onto the bed, feeling the heat of E.J.'s breath as her tongue caressed his neck, Mike knew he'd made the right decision not to shave.

* * *

><p>"Touch my beard again and you'll lose more than these whiskers, Renko," E.J. purred only somewhat threateningly as she stroked Mike's stubble. He was half-awake now, having fallen sound asleep after their afternoon interlude.<p>

"_Your_ beard, Barrett?" Mike asked, yawning and stretching. Being with E.J. always left him groggy. She wore him out. But in a really, really good way.

"Yeah. Mine. So don't screw around with it," E.J. "warned" Mike, tracing the tough little prickly hairs just around his lips with her index finger. Exploring Mike was E.J.'s favorite hobby and she always discovered something new and interesting about him during her forays.

"How'll I know when I can shave? You gonna shoot me a memo?" Mike teased, rubbing at his chin. He desperately wanted to shave, though; Brazil was hot as hell and the beard was driving him crazy, itching.

"You'll know," E.J. told him, snuggling against his shoulder, "when I know."

Mike sighed. Exactly when had he sold out his pair to this pushy little blonde?

Then he remembered the events of the past couple of hours.

So he'd itch for a few more days. What the hell, right?

* * *

><p>"Oh, look... There's our date," E.J. told Mike as they sat drinking iced coffee at a sidewalk cafe. "Isn't he handsome in that too-expensive-for-him suit?"<p>

Mike scratched at his beard. He needed that shave...

"How do you know it's too expensive for him?" he muttered. "Who died and made you Tommy... uh... Tommy... You know, that designer guy?"

He tried to think of another fashion designer but couldn't. E.J. shot him a dismissive look, shaking her head in mock disgust.

"God, you're pathetic," she said, sighing dramatically as she squinted to keep sight of the man they were tracking. "Why do I keep you around, Renko?"

Mike rubbed his stubble and leaned back in his chair, resting his arms behind his head. A huge, knowing grin spread across his face.

"You really need to ask, Barrett?"

E.J. turned her full attention to Mike now, propping her chin on her palm as she studied him, sprawled lazily in the chair across from her. It had taken every ounce of self-motivation she had to pull herself away from Mike in their hotel bed and pointedly remind him (and herself) that it was time to go to "work." She certainly hadn't wanted to see their long afternoon together end.

"No," she said wistfully, no trace of the usual sarcasm in her voice. "I don't."

* * *

><p>"Sorry, baby, but it's coming off tonight," Mike casually said, stroking his chin with his free hand.<p>

E.J. had his other arm in hers as they strolled along the beachfront, following their target. The man apparently enjoyed shopping. Mike was tired of pretending to need high-end clothing in each luxury boutique he and E.J. dipped into as part of their surveillance. E.J., of course, was having a blast; getting the chance to see Mike in expensive shirts was a special thrill for her.

But now E.J. yanked her arm out of Mike's and whipped around to face him, clearly upset with what she'd heard.

"Fine!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at Mike. "Shave it! I'm so over this! Do whatever the hell you want, OK? You always do anyway!"

Mike glowered at her as she turned to stalk away. Without warning, he followed and grasped her arm firmly, turning her back towards him. E.J.'s eyes flashed with anger. Mike knew she hated having her arm grabbed this way but he'd always felt it was unfair when she socked him, so to speak, with some unkind snipe and then tried to beat a hasty retreat before he could respond.

"THAT'S a lie, Barrett! The only thing I ALWAYS do is whatever the hell YOU want!" Mike shot back furiously.

E.J. swallowed hard, knowing that what Mike said was true. She forced herself to control her emotions. Once again, something small and seemingly insignificant had turned into a major blowup between the two of them.

For a few moments, neither spoke. They couldn't look at each other. Mike's words had hit E.J. where she lived; he knew exactly how to cut her down to size. And Mike hated that he'd hurt the one person in the world who really loved him — and who he loved as well. E.J. was high-maintenance but that was part of the deal for being with her and really? That she wanted things her way only made Mike that much more attracted to E.J. She was a constant challenge for him and trying to figure her out entertained him. She was never boring. Mike just got frustrated with her short temper sometimes. This had led them to where they stood now, at odds.

"I'm sorry," Mike said softly. And he was. This fight, Mike thought to himself, was utterly ridiculous. Over him wanting to shave? Something else was going on but E.J. wasn't ready to admit it. Yet.

"You didn't do anything wrong," E.J. admitted in a sad, small voice. "I started this." She sighed. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. You're right, you know? You do what I want. I don't know why. You shouldn't."

"I need direction," Mike answered laconically. A wry grin played at the corner of his mouth, hinting that he'd smile if E.J. would. She tried to resist but couldn't, snickering to herself. Mike could always make her laugh.

"Compromise?" E.J. suggested, a storefront in the distance suddenly attracting her attention. She nodded towards it.

Mike turned to take a look. Then, rubbing at his beard, he shot E.J. a smirk, realizing what she had in mind.

"You bad, bad girl," Mike growled, smiling.

* * *

><p>The blade pressed against his throat, Mike worked overtime to control his breathing, to relax. But it was nearly impossible. He felt the cool steel against his skin and he realized he had surrendered control. He was powerless. And he'd wanted it this way.<p>

"Move... and die."

Mike swallowed hard. The blade made its way up along the length of his neck, making a scratching sound as it moved through the shaving lather E.J. had chosen. The scent was intoxicating, thick and heavy in the humid air.

"Relax, babe, relax..."

Another long stroke with the blade. Mike was dripping sweat. The heat and steam in the small hotel bathroom was nearly overwhelming. He closed his eyes.

"Feels good, huh?"

She shifted on Mike's lap and he groaned. Her touch was arousing him, even more so with the razor in play. One slip and a shave would be the least of his worries.

E.J. snickered, feeling Mike's reaction to the shave — and the straddling — he was getting.

"Yeah... You wish."

Now she carefully brought the blade to Mike's cheek, working it exactly as the barber had shown her. Next, she shaved Mike's other cheek. His upper lip and chin area would follow. That would be the tough part.

* * *

><p>E.J. and Mike both studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror.<p>

"Looks good," Mike told E.J. "You have a future in barbering if this special agent gig doesn't work out, Barrett."

"Maybe you should save the jokes for after I've put away the razor, Renko," E.J. told him.

"I'm not kidding," Mike said. "That's the best shave I've ever had. Thanks."

He started to pull her close in order to give her a kiss but stopped, noticing the razor still in her hand.

"You, uh... gonna put that thing away now?" he asked.

"Only if you don't want me 'barbering' any other specific areas on your body," E.J. said, smirking. "Since I'm such a pro now."

"Well, let's not burn you out too soon," Mike replied, carefully taking the razor from E.J. before pulling her into his arms.


	11. Love Her Madly

Title: Love Her Madly  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike takes EJ on a "real" date — at her insistence.

* * *

><p>It occurred to E.J. that she and Mike had been moving fast — maybe too fast — in their relationship.<p>

She'd slept with plenty of guys on the first date. But at least there had always been a first date.

She and Mike had never actually gone out on a date. They'd skipped the buildup and gotten straight to the climax, literally and figuratively. She loved Mike; it was weird, but she just did from the minute she met him. Now she wanted to start having... well... a real relationship with him. They knew each other but they didn't.

They had the sex; it was time for the romance.

"You're taking me on a date, Renko," E.J. said, not looking up from her work. "Tonight."

"We're past the dating stage, Barrett," Mike replied, looking only half-awake as he studied the cover of an X-rated film that would be key to the next undercover assignment he and E.J. started. "That happened when you gave me that full-body scrubbing behind the ears the first day I met you."

Mike sighed. They'd be working to bust a porno producer suspected of kidnapping an 18-year-old Navy enlistee, drugging her, filming her and then killing her. Hetty had a personal interest in this case because the victim was so young and she intended that the creep be brought to justice, as she put it, "off the books, Mr. Renko." Vance was backing it, as always. The work he and E.J. did was always off the books but this was black ops stuff. No witnesses. Like it never happened. Hetty's way. Vance's too. Mike raised an eyebrow at an act depicted on the poorly-produced cover. He and E.J. tried a lot of things in bed (and many other places) but... not that. That was disgusting even to him. E.J. was a lot of things and he knew all about her reputation coming up through the NCIS ranks but she had standards. Surprisingly high ones, he'd learned.

He was finding that out now.

"A real date. With flowers and dinner and wine and candles," E.J. went on, undeterred. "I think we'll dance, too. Slow. You better know how to dance."

She wasn't going to bag the date thing, he realized. Also, it hit him that he — no, they — would have to watch this porno. Together. Because the victim was featured in it. The really sick thing was, a lot of their clues would come from this filth. Damn, this was going to be a nightmare. The porn-watching. And, well... this stupid date jazz, too.

"Sounds fun. You have a good time. I'll be three deep into a six pack," Mike muttered.

"Date. Tonight. Dinner. Out," E.J. insisted. She was tired of Mike's snide comments. "It will happen. You will be there. Oh, and guess what? You'll wear a suit. With a tie."

"You don't own me, Barrett," Mike growled.

"PINK tie, Renko," E.J. threatened, snickering as she stole a glance at Mike. "And wash your hair."

* * *

><p>"The blindfold suits you, Barrett," Mike teased, leading E.J. into what he'd told her would forever now be "their special place."<p>

"Shut up," E.J. shot back. This putting on the blindfold idea wasn't sitting well with her, no matter how cute Mike thought it was. She felt like an idiot.

"Matches your dress," Mike went on, eyeing the simple, off-white summer dress E.J. wore. He'd thought she would pick something flashy. But no. She looked incredible. The dress softened her. It was a nice change.

"That pink tie?" E.J. hissed, not smiling. "I'm going to feed it to you as an appetizer, you..."

"Maybe next time I'll see how this blindfold fits around your mouth," Mike noted. E.J. blindly took a little swing at him, nearly losing her balance. He grinned, holding her steady.

"Jackass," she hissed. "JERK! You have NO sense of..."

The tirade she'd planned was put on hold when Mike suddenly removed the blindfold.

She gaped at the surroundings, awestruck.

"Is this your idea of a joke, Renko?" E.J. asked when the blindfold fell from her eyes, surveying the horribly tacky Mexican restaurant Mike had chosen for their date.

"No," Mike said defensively. "It was listed under 'Restaurants - Mexican' in the phonebook, not 'Jokes,' Barrett."

"Sometimes I just don't understand you," E.J. said dismissively, tossing back her long, strawberry blonde hair.

"Only sometimes?" Mike asked.

"Believe me, I don't understand THAT, either," E.J. replied, forcing a smile as the waiter, who wore an oversized sombrero, approached to show them to a table.

* * *

><p>"I ask you to take me out on a date..." E.J. began.<p>

"_Tell_ me..." Mike corrected, studying the menu. He felt a taco craving coming on. Also a need for mas tequila.

"I _ask_ you to take me out on a date..." E.J. repeated, undaunted.

"_TELL_ me to take you out on a date," Mike insisted, not letting it drop.

"... and you bring me to this..." E.J. frowned, taking in the tacky decor of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant, "... this dive masquerading as a place where people dare to eat. God, I bet the Health Department hasn't checked this rathole out in years! Maybe I should make a call."

"They have the best tacos in town," Mike muttered.

"Tacos. Tacos? Really." E.J. folded her arms over her breasts, determined that Mike wouldn't get a look. He was going to pay for turning their date night into this cheese-fest. "Why didn't we just hit the drive-thru window at Taco Loco and call it a night if you wanted tacos? I wanted romance, OK? I wanted a nice night out with you and here's what you give me — tacos."

With that, she got up and stormed off to the ladies' room. Mike sighed, watching E.J. go.

The waiter appeared with chips, salsa and a bottle of tequila. He plunked down two shot glasses.

"You will have your usual, Senor Mike?"

The waiter knew Mike as a regular. Everyone in the restaurant called him by name.

"Yeah. The No. 11," Mike told the man.

"And for the lady?" the waiter asked.

Mike pointed to an item on the menu. The waiter smiled and nodded.

"Excellent choice, Senor Mike," the waiter said, winking. Mike grinned back knowingly. "You would like us to use the special green salsa?"

"Absolutely," Mike replied, giving E.J. a long look from head to breasts to hips to toe to hips and back to breasts again as she glared at him, making her way back to their table from the ladies' room. That dress did her many favors, he thought.

* * *

><p>"How?" E.J. demanded, fuming. "How am I supposed to eat Mexican food in this dress?"<p>

"Very carefully," Mike muttered, crunching into his first taco of the night.

"If one drop of this green sauce gets on my dress, Mike Renko, you'd better have your funeral plans in order."

E.J. carefully took a bite of her dinner. It was the best Mexican food she'd ever tasted and she wasn't even a fan of Mexican food. There wasn't anything heavy about the dish Mike had picked for her — and she'd already given him hell for that, ordering for her. He'd just stared at her like he did when she started ranting. And so, when she realized that yet again she was the one doing all of the talking, she poured herself a shot of tequila and shut the hell up. Probably Mike's plan, she figured, but whatever.

"You like my tie?" Mike asked, wiping his mouth.

"Love the tie," E.J. replied. He was wearing a hot pink tie with a little tie tack. Her dad had liked tie tacks, too. It was a classy touch.

"This suit okay?" Mike continued, leaning back in his chair. He snapped out his arms, straightening the cuffs of his sleeves.

"Love the suit," E.J. said. Now Mike was getting into the spirit of things. He was playing with her. She liked this. Really liked it.

"Love the guy in the suit," she added with a wink.

"That dress isn't too shabby, either, Barrett," Mike said huskily.

E.J. poured them both another shot of tequila, bringing her glass suggestively to her lips as she looked directly at Mike from across the table.

"I'd loan it to you," she teased, taking a sip of tequila, "but I'm afraid I might never see it again."

* * *

><p>"Ask me to dance, Renko," E.J. said, her blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight.<p>

Mike sighed heavily. Dancing? Really? Slow dancing? Seriously really?

He looked down at the white tablecloth. When she stared at him like this... she knew he'd do anything she said. He'd been planning to dance with her, anyway. When he worked up the guts to make the move. Once again, her inability to wait for anything had proven lucky for him. She'd forced the issue, so...

"Let's polka, Barrett," Mike joked, rising from his chair. He helped E.J. from hers. They moved to the small, tiled outdoor patio.

Mike gently took E.J. into his arms and they moved slowly to the soft music coming from inside the restaurant. The house mariachi band was now playing a slow Spanish ballad. E.J. rested her head against Mike's shoulder, closing her eyes as she listened to his heartbeat.

"Best. Date. Ever," E.J. said softly, really meaning it. She soaked up the scent of Mike's cologne.

"The night's not over," Mike suggested. Then he pushed back E.J.'s hair, leaning in to plant a tender kiss on her full lips. She relaxed against him, taking a deep breath as his hips swayed with hers. Their usual idea of romance was the one-liner, the back and forth, teasing. But this — being out on a traditional sort of date night — was, while rare for them, surprisingly natural, E.J. thought. She could get used to this.

"You ... are ... amazing," E.J. whispered. "I love you."

She had no problem saying it first because she knew it wasn't easy for him to let down his guard, even with her. But when he was vulnerable, when she had him in her arms, she didn't need to hear the words to know Mike loved her, too. Just the way he breathed her name said it all.

But this night, his breath came hot against her neck. The words were husky in her ear. They sent a shiver through her.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>"Man... you really are hot, Barrett," Mike said thickly, slurring his words. His green eyes were tinged red from too much tequila.<p>

E.J., who'd matched him shot for shot, propped her chin on her hand as she tried to focus on his face. He wasn't classically handsome. In fact, he wasn't particularly good-looking. But there was just something about Mike that touched her in all the right places. She guessed that whatever it was, it must be like what junkies needed. Mike was her fix; she craved him. When she couldn't have him, the sense of longing gnawed at her. He was her annoying little itch and it felt so amazing, the inevitable scratch.

"Hot?" E.J. asked in a drunken, overly serious way. "That all you got for me, Renko? I'm a hottie?"

"You're my hottie," Mike slurred. "HOT-tie." Then he reached over, jabbed E.J.'s cheek and made a sizzling sound.

The waiter brought them a fresh bottle of tequila.

Later, they couldn't remember the cab ride home, except for the fact that it had been E.J.'s hand working its way around in Mike's pocket, finally finding just enough for the fare and tip. After that little scene, it had been all she could do to help Mike out of the cab and up to the small apartment they shared. He could hardly walk and it wasn't only from all the tequila. He'd tried getting drunkenly amorous in the stairwell but the thought of cops and paramedics finding them half-naked in a painful and compromising position if they fell to the landing below really didn't appeal to E.J.

So after a hastily whispered, somewhat slurred promise — a compromise, actually — into Mike's ear and a wet, heated kiss to seal the deal, E.J. had him right where she wanted him. Inside the apartment.

* * *

><p>Exactly how they'd ended up on the floor, neither could remember later on. They did recall, somewhat hazily, that they'd started on the bed.<p>

She'd been on top because... she liked being on top and he knew that. And he liked her being on top. She knew that. The man found ways to get out of work everywhere. Also, he enjoyed letting her dictate the terms. Most of the time. She was his boss, as he loved to remind her, so he had to do what she said. That night, she'd been on top because he'd passed out when they hit the bed. How the hell had she gotten that suit off him so fast, he wondered later. His blindfold? The one he'd teased her with earlier? Came back to haunt him when she'd placed it over his eyes, further disorienting him. But he was so drunk it didn't matter. She was wearing the hot pink tie. He'd noticed that right before she slipped the blindfold on him. The tie tack, though, was carefully placed on the side table.

The rest of the night — and it was a long night — was a dizzy, dark haze of pleasure and pain for Mike. E.J. was drunk, too, but true to form she'd managed to hold it together and maintain enough control for the both of them. This was why they worked. And for E.J., making love to Mike after their date was special. True, it wasn't as romantic as she'd wanted it to be. They'd both messed around and gotten much too hammered for that. But he'd made the sincere effort to prove that he loved her and he'd said the words. She felt a real bond with him when they'd danced. They were both misfits but they fit each other to perfection. In every way.

Still, what they both felt, lying awkwardly on the floor next to their bed as dawn broke, was the soreness of their muscles. Neither had the energy to climb back into the bed. And so, there they lay.

"I know we fell off. But I don't know when," Mike told E.J. as they lay staring at the legs of the table beside the bed. "Might've been when I dared you to prove it wasn't your first rodeo."

"God, this floor needs vacuuming," E.J. moaned, closing her eyes.

* * *

><p>It was hard for E.J. to keep her eyes on the sickening acts depicted on the TV screen. She felt nauseous, watching their victim being forced to do the things she was doing in this "film." This kid who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, drunk at a bar and kidnapped by this sleazebag when she stumbled out to try finding a cab back to base — her life ended horribly, E.J. thought. This wasn't what sex was supposed to be like. She and Mike had their favorite moves, sure, and they had fun in bed. Sometimes too much fun, maybe. She twisted her neck from side to side. It ached from the previous night's sleeping arrangements. But this stuff happening in the porn film? Wasn't even on their radar.<p>

Suddenly the screen went black. E.J., who'd been forcing herself to do her job and take copious notes on anything that looked like a clue in the movie, looked over at Mike. Just like always, he dominated the remote. And he'd turned off the sex tape.

"Why'd you flip it off?" E.J. asked. "I was getting some pretty good notes there."

Mike closed his eyes, running his hands through his hair as he lay back on the couch.

"I couldn't watch... that ... anymore. What he was doing to her." He sighed. E.J. noticed that he looked exhausted. "It's just so damn sick, y'know? That."

E.J. put her notepad and pen onto the coffee table and stretched herself on top of Mike, snuggling into his body. He held her fast but gently.

"Yeah," she said softly, breathing against his neck. "It is. It's not like... us. When we're together."

"No," Mike whispered. "That's not us."

E.J. noted how serious he looked. This was rare. They were both quiet for a while. Also rare. For E.J., anyway. Mike could be the quiet one. Mainly, to piss her off.

"You're the only guy I've ever let wash my hair. Did I tell you that?" E.J. asked suddenly, glancing up at Mike. He grinned down at her, chuckling. This was cute, how she was trying to change the mood. It had been a hell of a day.

"No kidding," Mike teased. "Man... Aren't I the lucky guy?"

"Hey, that was a big deal," E.J. told him. "I don't just let anyone into my shower."

"Mmmm-hmmm..." Mike grunted in agreement, knowing he must be exceptionally special since E.J. never turned him away from her showers. "So I was thinking if you're not busy Friday night, I should take you out again."

"Again? A second date?" E.J. shifted her body so that she was more face-to-face with Mike. "Careful, Renko, this could turn into a pattern."

"Yeah, looks that way, Barrett," Mike countered. "See, now I'm gonna have to go all romantic on you. Flowers... Candy... Guys dressed like gorillas showing up to sing you stupid telegrams... You created this monster. Nobody to blame but yourself."

"Damn," E.J. said, bringing her lips to Mike's, "Guess I'll just suffer the consequences."

"I want my pink tie back," Mike said huskily.

"You can have it," E.J. answered, her lips caressing Mike's, "when you give me back my dress."


	12. Count The Ways

Title: Count The Ways  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Who says Mike's not romantic? That would be E.J.

* * *

><p>"I love you, Barrett," Mike said, frowning at the day's news of another Dodgers loss in the L.A. Times. Why did he still even take the damn paper? The Dodgers sucked. This year.<p>

E.J. propped her chin on her palm and stared at Mike, who remained buried in the Sports section. He didn't look up.

"Really?" E.J. asked. "Because right now I'm thinking you're way more in love with the Dodgers."

"Nope. They suck. You don't." Mike explained, sniffing disdainfully as he read how the Dodgers' lineup had been flummoxed by Giants ace Tim Lincecum.

"Wow. That's romantic," E.J. snorted, picking at her cereal. "How did I ever resist your charms, Renko?"

"You didn't. You were hot for me the minute you saw me," Mike muttered, eyeing the Giants-Dodgers box score. The game stats for L.A. were depressing. He flipped the paper away, yawning. He wasn't that hungry for breakfast. Well, maybe he was. He got up from the table and began rooting around in the refrigerator.

"Yeah... And you treat me like a queen," E.J. said under her breath. She shook her head somewhat dismissively.

Mike stopped rummaging through the fridge for a minute and studied E.J. She couldn't see him. He realized that maybe he did come across as if he took her for granted sometimes and he didn't, not at all. She meant everything to him and when he'd said he loved her earlier he meant it. Maybe he should've put down the paper when he told her, though. OK, _definitely_ he should've put down the paper when he told her. No wonder she didn't buy it.

He removed a half-eaten blueberry pie from the refrigerator, poured himself a cup of coffee and, in a show of gallantry, warmed up E.J.'s coffee without even being asked. She turned to face him, surprised at the kind little act. Mike grinned at her as he replaced the coffee pot. Then he re-joined her at the table.

"Thanks," E.J. told Mike, taking a sip of the fresh coffee. She continued eyeing him suspiciously.

"You're welcome," Mike replied, digging into the pie. He shot E.J. a wink. She smiled, blushing.

"What's the deal, Renko?" E.J. asked. "Telling me you love me... Warming up my coffee..."

"Saying you don't suck," Mike reminded her.

"Absolutely. That, too. What are you up to? What have you done?" E.J. narrowed her eyes at Mike, searching his face for any clues.

"Nothing," Mike said honestly. "Yet."

* * *

><p>E.J. lay on the sofa, studying a dossier on the next "target" Hetty had chosen for she and Mike to handle. Another weapons dealer. Really? This was starting to get kind of dull, taking out the weapons dealers. Couldn't they take down a terrorist once in a while, just for kicks?<p>

Mike strolled in, grinning. He'd been gone since just after breakfast. E.J. eyed him curiously. He seemed uncharacteristically happy.

"Back so soon, babe?" she said, smirking. It had been hours since she'd seen him.

Mike didn't answer, opting instead to lean over the sofa and kiss E.J. on the forehead. Now she was absolutely intrigued.

"Okay, Renko, spill it. What's the deal today? You're acting weird." E.J. sat up, making room for Mike, who sat at her feet. He leaned back, smiling brightly at her.

E.J. began to feel a little unnerved. This happy, smiley, kissy Mike wasn't her Mike. Her Mike growled and snarled and frowned and teased her relentlessly and wanted to be kissed first so he could pretend to care enough to kiss her back. This Clone Mike was being... sweet. Her Mike could be sweet (when he felt like it) but usually the trade-off involved sex. Or too much alcohol. Or him feeling incredibly guilty about something.

So... what was he feeling so guilty about?

Mike reached into the back pocket of his jeans, removing a small black box. He handed it to E.J.

"For you, Barrett," he said tenderly. E.J. took the box, scanning Mike's face. Still grinning. And blushing. Mike didn't blush, E.J. thought, and here he was — blushing!

E.J. opened the little box and gasped. In it was a thin silver necklace bearing a small diamond that sparkled in the light. E.J. was stunned. No man had ever given her such a beautiful piece of jewelry. She'd bought nice jewelry for herself but no man she'd been with had made the gesture that Mike had. She swallowed hard.

"You like it?" Mike asked. "I wanted to get you a bigger diamond but you know how Hetty is with the payroll."

"It's beautiful, Mike," E.J. whispered, barely able to get the words out.

"Let's see how it looks," Mike suggested. E.J. turned, allowing Mike to put the necklace on for her. He looked back at her as she fingered the necklace gently. She was lovely, as always, but even more so now.

E.J. suddenly threw her arms around Mike's neck, hugging him tightly. She loved everything about him — his stubborn five o'clock shadow, his crooked grin, his green eyes, the scent of his cologne, his teasing, his usual don't-give-a-damn attitude. Feeling Mike's arms around her was all she really needed. The necklace was a kind show of affection but just having Mike around everyday was what counted. E.J. brought her lips to Mike's, gently kissing him.

"I love you, E.J.," Mike said softly. "Even when I don't act like it. I love you." He almost never called her anything other than "Barrett" or "baby." When Mike called her "E.J.," she knew things were serious.

"I know you do. I love you too, Mike," E.J. replied, nuzzling Mike's nose with hers. "So much."

"Way more than the Dodgers," Mike told her.

E.J. giggled.

"Well, I mean, c'mon. They suck. I don't."

"Hell no, you don't," Mike agreed, chuckling. "You could hit Lincecum."

"Yeah, I could. And my hair? So much better than his."

"Definitely. You're prettier than he is, too." Mike leaned back on the couch. E.J. snuggled against him.

* * *

><p>"So the necklace?" E.J. asked after a short time. "What did I do to deserve this, huh? Last night doesn't count. We do that all the time."<p>

Mike snickered, remembering the events of the previous night.

"Mmmmm... We don't do that all the time," Mike countered. "But we oughta try."

Now it was E.J.'s turn to laugh.

"Like your back could take it, babe," she teased. Stretching an arm over her head, she continued, "Not sure if my back can take it again. Think I wrenched my shoulder."

"Told you not to grab me like that," Mike reminded E.J. "But you had to prove you could walk and chew gum at the same time, Barrett."

E.J. tenderly grasped Mike's chin, turning his face towards hers.

"Listen, you," she joked, squeezing his cheeks so that Mike's lips puckered up. "When I was 'walking'? You couldn't even remember your own name. And as for me 'chewing gum'? You really want to go there? Huh, Renko? Huh?"

"I don't, uh, recall..." Mike muttered, not wanting to get into it.

"You passed out," E.J. reminded him. "Unconscious. Didn't know where you were when you came to."

"Can't really remember," Mike sniffed. They had really gone for it last night. Once again, he'd been the one who broke first. How come E.J. never lost her cool in bed? He was the man, not her.

"I love you," E.J. said, burying her face in Mike's shoulder. She had unbuttoned his shirt and was caressing his chest hair.

"I love you, too," Mike replied huskily. He breathed in the scent of her shampoo. She always smelled so good — clean and fresh.

"Why'd you buy me the necklace?" E.J. asked, getting back to her original question.

"Just wanted you to know that I love you," Mike told her. "Sometimes I don't act like it. And I'm sorry."

"I know, babe," E.J. reassured Mike, running her palm over his bare chest. "I always know you love me. You know I love you, right?"

"You just told me," Mike teased, kissing E.J.'s forehead.

"Then we're cool," she said, touching her lips to his neck.

"Real cool," Mike sighed happily, loving the fact that he got to hold E.J. like this. It was nice, having her around.


	13. Surprise, Surprise

Title: Surprise, Surprise  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike's "surprise" for E.J. really surprises her. Really.

* * *

><p>When E.J. awoke, the first thing she felt was an unfamiliar chill. Shivering, she'd pulled the blankets higher and turned to pull Mike close.<p>

But Mike wasn't there. And he was always there in the morning. Snuggling with him was how she started her day, her pre-routine routine. E.J. liked her pre-routine routine.

She wasn't used to waking up alone. Not anymore. And she didn't want to get used to doing so again.

Once she'd showered and dressed, E.J. made her way into the kitchen to brew her morning coffee. She found a full pot, still warm, awaiting her. There was also a hastily-scribbled note taped to the refrigerator.

_"Barrett — Got up early. Important errand this a.m. Big surprise for you later. Love you, Renko"_

E.J. poured herself a cup of coffee and, studying the note, sighed.

_Big surprise for you later,_ she thought. _Oh, God..._

* * *

><p>That Mike wasn't taking her calls was annoying E.J.<p>

That he was completely ignoring her texts was just pissing her off.

He'd been gone for hours. It was Saturday, dammit. Their Saturday to spend together. Now she was spending it by herself, waiting around for a guy who'd ditched her.

She made one final call to Mike.

"Listen, JACKASS, I don't know WHY you're blowing me off but..."

The apartment door opened and Mike entered, grinning like the cat who'd swallowed the canary. E.J. ended her rant, throwing her phone onto the sofa as she stood to confront him.

"Where the HELL have you BEEN all day? I've been CALLING you and TEXTING you and you NEVER..."

Mike, still smiling, merely put his index finger to his lips, made a "Shhhh" sound and winked at E.J. She flushed red with fury, suddenly unable to speak for being so angry.

"You ready for your surprise? Took me all day to get it ready for you," Mike told her.

E.J. clenched her jaw, still upset and hurt at being left alone all day. She couldn't answer just then, and so she crossed her arms defensively, staring at the floor. Mike snickered tenderly, knowing she was pissed. But he was sure she'd be over it when she saw what he had for her.

"C'mon," he said gently, offering his hand to E.J. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him momentarily, before reluctantly putting her hand in his.

Mike led her out of their apartment, down the stairs and out of their building. Now they walked to the rear of the building. E.J. looked around the small parking area. Mike flashed her a huge grin.

"What?" she asked, not getting whatever it was Mike was trying to pull. Scanning the lot, she saw only the other residents' cars, her car (which, she noted, needed washing), a motorcycle, the 4X4 truck that their upstairs neighbor, Red, owned. It looked terribly out of place in L.A. but then again, so did Red...

"See anything new?" Mike wanted to know.

E.J. sighed, frustrated. She'd already wasted most of her day waiting for his "surprise" and was tired of this game.

"Just tell me, okay?" E.J. snapped. "What's this 'surprise' and..." She paused. "Wait... Where's your car?"

Mike's old, beat-up Monte Carlo was nowhere in sight. The motorcycle E.J. had glanced past now sat parked in Mike's usual spot.

She turned to Mike, gaping in stunned silence.

"You didn't..."

Mike was beaming.

"Hell, _yeah_, I did!" he said exuberantly, grabbing E.J.'s hand as he practically skipped over to where his new motorcycle sat. "Check it out, Barrett! 2007 Harley-Davidson Dyna Glide... Custom bars... There's your seat right there... Here's _your_ helmet..." Mike handed E.J. a black chopper-style helmet. "Try it on, baby!" he told her. "C'mon, we gotta pick one more thing up and then we're taking this sucker OUT!"

E.J. looked dumbly at the helmet in her hands. Mike had already strapped his on and was straddling the Harley. The powerful sound of the engine revving brought E.J. back to herself.

"BARRETT, COME ON!" Mike yelled. E.J. fumbled momentarily as she put on the helmet. Then she settled in behind Mike, wrapping her arms up high around his chest. He gently removed them, replacing them around his waist. "YOU GOOD?" he yelled back. E.J. nodded yes.

Mike revved the Harley's powerful engine once more and they tore out of the parking lot.

_Surprise,_ E.J. thought as she clung to Mike, feeling the wind whip against her body as they cruised the L.A. streets.

* * *

><p>"The Harley shop?" E.J. asked Mike as they entered the dealership. "Didn't you just spend all DAY here?"<p>

Mike didn't answer. Instead, he sauntered up to the counter and was greeted by a muscular guy wearing a mechanic's shirt with "CLUTCH" sewn on the left chest area. E.J. sighed. This was apparently how their weekends were to be spent from now on, enjoying the company of giant men named "Clutch."

"Mike! Back so soon?" Clutch joked. "Don't tell me you had second thoughts and want to trade in that machine for a scooter."

Mike laughed.

"Depends on the scooter," he shot back. "Just picking up that other stuff you said you'd get ready for me. Taking my girl here out for a ride."

E.J. gave Mike a curious look.

_My girl? _she thought. Since when did Mike call her "his girl?" Not that she didn't like it. But it didn't sound... Mike-like.

"Oh, yeah," Clutch said. "Lemme go get it." He headed into the back of the store.

"My girl?" E.J. asked Mike.

"What?" he said nonchalantly, frowning as he tried on some sunglasses.

"Nothing, Renko," E.J. replied, folding her arms across her chest as she fixed her eyes on Mike. "It's just that in the hour since you brought that bike home and hauled me over here on it, I'd swear your stones have gotten three sizes bigger."

Mike put down the sunglasses, sneering at E.J., who shook her head in amazement at him and snickered.

"Real funny, Barrett," Mike muttered, a little snarl curling his lip.

"Are you a Hells Angel now?" E.J. continued, taking full advantage of her opportunity to needle Mike about his new toy. "Does this make me your old lady? Or am I a motorcycle mama? I'm really not up on my outlaw biker lingo."

"That's right, get in all your shots," Mike said, smirking. "Because you're gonna feel lame when you get your surprise."

"I thought you trading in your rattletrap of a car for this grown-up version of a Big Wheel _was_ my surprise," E.J. countered somewhat snippily. "You mean there's _more_? Gotta be my lucky day."

Now Mike's eyes met hers and E.J. realized that she might have pushed too far. He looked hurt. She started to apologize when Clutch returned bearing two boxes.

"His 'n' hers," Clutch said cheerfully. "Give 'em a try-on."

"Go ahead," Mike told E.J., his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hollow. "Put it on."

E.J. slowly lifted the lid of the box, removing a new black leather jacket. It was sleek and smooth, the leather real — not fake in any way. And it was obviously expensive. She ran her hand over the leather, taking in its feel, before slipping it on. It fit perfectly. And she looked fabulous in it.

Clutch gave a friendly little wolf-whistle.

"Fits real nice," he said, rubbing his thick grey beard.

"Yeah," E.J. agreed softly. She felt ashamed for having gotten short with Mike about the motorcycle and her "surprise." Once again, he'd done something incredibly romantic and she'd wrecked it. She felt awful. Mike stared at the floor, occasionally sneaking a peek at E.J. in the jacket. He didn't seem to want to look at her. That made her feel terrible, too.

"Well, c'mon, man, let's see if we got us a matched pair here," Clutch said to Mike. Mike somewhat reluctantly slipped on the black leather jacket he'd picked out. Like E.J.'s, it was a perfect fit and seeing Mike in it took E.J.'s breath away. He looked as sexy as she'd ever seen him.

Tentatively, E.J. reached out to straighten the lapel of the jacket. She offered Mike a look that let him know she was sorry for how she'd acted and he responded with a little half-smile, blushing slightly at the attention she was now giving him. Things would be alright, E.J. knew.

"You two better hit it if you're gonna take 'er out for the afternoon," Clutch told them. "Holler if you have any problems, okay? But she oughta ride real smooth and easy."

"I'm sure she will," Mike answered, not taking his eyes off E.J. She smiled, licking her teeth with her tongue.

* * *

><p>Once they were back on the bike, E.J. wrapped her arms around Mike's waist and rested her chin on his shoulder before he started the engine.<p>

"Hey... Thanks for my surprise," she said sweetly. "I love it. And you, too, Renko."

Mike turned back slightly, a little wry grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I haven't _given _you your surprise yet, Barrett," he said, winking.

"Then it really _is_ my lucky day," E.J. replied, smiling as Mike revved up the engine and they took off for wherever.


	14. Wait To Stop

Title: Wait To Stop  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: A random night out with E.J. and Mike.

* * *

><p>"We haven't been out in a while," E.J. said to Mike, peering at him from her end of the sofa, which was opposite his. "We should go out tonight."<p>

"We've been out," Mike muttered, frowning as he returned E.J.'s look. "We go out. We were out today."

"Grocery shopping doesn't count as 'out,'" E.J. countered.

"It doesn't count as 'in,' either," Mike pointed out.

"Because it doesn't COUNT," E.J. shot back. "We're going out tonight, Renko. You and me. We're going someplace nice, too. Not back to El Roacho Loco or whatever that place was."

"You liked the tequila, Barrett," Mike said. "Even if it didn't like you back the next day."

"You're going to dress up," E.J. went on, ignoring Mike. "I want you in a suit."

"And I want you in a bathtub of butterscotch pudding wearing nothing but stilettos," Mike replied matter-of-factly. "We all have dreams."

E.J. glared at Mike, narrowing her eyes.

"If you act like a jackass tonight, you'd better learn to live without two key parts of your anatomy, Renko."

Mike looked down at his lap, then glanced back up at E.J.

"You mean you're letting me have custody of them again just for this special occasion, Barrett?" Mike teased, smirking. "Hell, let's break out the Champale."

* * *

><p>For once, it was Mike who was holding up the plans. E.J., usually the one who needed "just one more minute" to fix her hair or adjust this or redo that, sat cooling her heels on the sofa while Mike preened in front of the bathroom mirror.<p>

"GET DRESSED!" E.J. yelled into the bedroom. She was growing impatient and Mike had apparently made reservations at a restaurant that was notoriously difficult to get into.

"Usually, you're ordering me to do just the opposite," Mike said, emerging from the bedroom.

E.J. turned to take a look at him and, upon seeing him, found that she couldn't speak.

He looked fabulous.

First of all, Mike hadn't shaved and so his usual five o'clock shadow and stubble was that much more pronounced, giving him a dangerous, edgy appearance. Not much turned E.J. on more than the feel of Mike's prickly stubble against her fingertips — or any other areas of her skin. The sensation drove her crazy.

He wore a light grey suit accented by a well-fitting black dress shirt. No tie. Mike would wear a tie if forced to but he hated them. Tonight he'd left his shirt unbuttoned just enough to give E.J. a peek at his chest hair. She liked this too. Lots. Although not overly muscular, Mike had a nice, lean, lanky build that E.J. appreciated. He was just a normal guy with a normal guy's body. Something else she liked.

And, of course, then there was the matter of Mike's cologne.

Unlike Tony, Mike actually knew how to wear the stuff to his advantage. Less was more. Mike's scent of choice — which managed to remain a mystery despite E.J.'s many attempts to get Mike to name his brand — was something classic and clean. Nothing perfume-like or overly musky. E.J. liked the fact that Mike's cologne didn't have to cover for anything; it wasn't trying too hard to say "Check me out" to a woman. As nice a guy as Tony was, his cologne (which she'd hated) was always overcompensating for something. Mike's cologne was just a little something extra as part of the Date Night deal. It didn't want or need to be noticed. And so E.J. let herself relish the soft scent of Mike whenever she got the chance.

"This okay?" Mike asked, peering down at his suit with a frown. He wondered if he should've gone for something more formal. Not a good sign when E.J. had nothing to say. Because she always had something to say.

"Okay? You look incredible," E.J. finally said in a tone that made Mike blush. Seeing how sexy Mike was in his suit, E.J. momentarily reconsidered the idea of Date Night. Maybe they should stay in.

Mike grinned shyly. He resisted the urge to say something sarcastic as a way of hiding how vulnerable he felt with E.J. looking him over from head to toe. He knew she already wanted him. The feeling was mutual.

"We should, uh, you know..." Mike stammered, nodding towards the door. His palms turned clammy just before he started to help E.J. up from the sofa and he quickly wiped them on his pants. He hadn't been this nervous around her the first time they'd met. Or the first time they'd kissed. Or made love. Or ever before, really. Why tonight?

When Mike pulled E.J. from the couch, she moved into his arms and kissed him tenderly.

"Are you afraid of me?" she whispered teasingly.

"Sometimes," Mike whispered back.

"Good," E.J. whispered, smiling, before kissing Mike one last time.

* * *

><p>Once seated at their candlelit table, Mike took E.J.'s hands in his and fixed his green gaze on her.<p>

"This count as 'out' enough for you?" Mike asked, a sly grin playing at the corners of his mouth. He hoped E.J. was impressed with his choice of restaurants this time around.

"Absolutely," E.J. said, bringing one of Mike's hands up to her lips. She kissed the skin tenderly before bringing Mike's hand up to her cheek, never taking her eyes off him. He could be so incredibly romantic sometimes, so amazingly disarming. Another thing about the guy that she loved.

Mike blushed at E.J.'s touch. He'd never been with someone who, he knew, adored him for who he was and yet managed to get him to try things that no other woman had. Going out to some trendy, hard-to-get-into eatery wasn't something he'd do on his own. But being with E.J. made Mike want to give these sort of things a shot, even if he complained about them at the outset. No matter how the night ended, he knew things would never be dull in her company.

"We oughta do this more often," Mike told E.J. The statement surprised her.

"Seriously?" she asked. "I mean, I'm all for it but you acted like this was the last thing on earth you wanted to do tonight, you know? Dress up and go out."

"I'm not hating it," Mike said.

E.J. smiled at him. Whenever she thought she might have Mike figured out, he threw her a curveball and she was back to square one of trying to decode the guy. Could he get any sexier?

"What?" Mike asked thickly, feeling E.J.'s shoulders fall as she let out a loud sigh. Holding her like this, his arms wrapped around her slim waist as they stared out at the Pacific together, Mike felt utterly content and calm. Dinner had been romantic but the drive out from the city to this spot on the beach had left him feeling dizzy with desire for her.

"It's amazing," E.J. told him. "The view here. But I wish we were home. I just... I want you to hold me. All night, you know?"

"I know," Mike said in a low, husky tone. Then he added, "But just... hold you?"

E.J. let out a little laugh. For a second, Mike had sounded worried.

"Before, after and during," she said suggestively, just before she turned back towards Mike, who took her hand and led her to the car.

* * *

><p>It occurred to Mike, as he felt E.J.'s hands working furiously at the buttons of his shirt, then sliding down to his belt buckle before moving to hastily unzip his pants, that he'd spent about an hour picking out the suit that was now being practically ripped from his body in minutes.<p>

But he didn't care. E.J. had spent as much, if not more, time getting ready and he'd had her dress off in one smooth zip.

And by the time he and E.J. fell onto the bed together, finally naked after so much work, Mike had lost all track of time.

* * *

><p>"That suit," E.J. began drowsily as she lay sprawled half atop Mike, "looks so good on you. And off you, too."<p>

Mike, who was already fighting sleep, moaned "Mmmmhhh..." in agreement. He always wanted to talk to E.J. after they'd made love but she wore him out. Literally.

"You sleepy, babe?" E.J. asked, yawning.

"Mmmmhhh..." Mike moaned softly.

"Butterscotch pudding, hmmm?" E.J. asked, smirking, her eyelids feeling heavy.

"Mmmmhhh..." Mike moaned again, managing a little grin at the thought.

"Mmmmhhh..." E.J. agreed, just before dropping off for the night.


	15. Pyromania

Title: Pyromania  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike and EJ investigate a firebug.

* * *

><p>"Let's take my car this time," E.J. said to Mike as they walked home from Spades, yet another assignment safely delivered thanks to Vi the Waitress. Obviously, Hetty was supplementing her tips, E.J. thought to herself after Vi had sent them on their way.<p>

"Your car's too clean to take on assignment," Mike said.

"What? My car's too clean. To drive to some nightclub. Right." E.J. replied.

She failed to see the connection between a new car that was kept spotlessly clean inside and out and its inability to provide adequate transportation to the kinds of places where they "worked." And her car was sporty and new. Tinted windows. V-6. She'd spent extra for the powerful engine but it was worth it. Since her demotion from team leader, she'd made a lot of cutbacks in her expenses but this was L.A. and she needed a trusty car. Everybody here drove; no taking the Metro like in D.C. or just walking to work like she'd done in Rota. Why not have a car that went fast? Also, she and Mike were both saving some money by splitting expenses so... her new car was a treat.

So far? She'd driven it home from the dealership. That was it.

"We'll take my bike," Mike said.

"Hang on... So YOUR bike is fine for our work? Why?"

Mike stopped and turned to face her, glowering now.

"It's a Harley-Davidson. It's badass."

"Yeah," E.J. shot back. "It's bad, all right. _On_ the ass. I can never _feel_ mine after we go riding."

"Don't rag on my ride," Mike snarled. "Maybe the problem isn't _my_ bike. Maybe the problem is _your_ ass."

E.J. cut him off.

"You ever want to see me naked again, Renko?" she asked sharply.

Mike started to reply but opted to remain safely silent. When they got to their building, he finally spoke as they approached her car.

"This one's all you, Barrett. Let's roll."

* * *

><p>E.J. drove around the block twice, finally stopping so that she and Mike could triple-check the address they'd been given.<p>

"No way this is it," she said, staring out the windshield at the half-burned out building across the street from where she'd parked.

By now she'd gotten used to the general seediness of their own neighborhood, which was a down-on-its-luck area in the Los Angeles that America never saw on TV or in the movies. But where they'd been sent? Was a whole different kind of deal. This was a wasteland. Vacant buildings. Shuttered storefronts. Litter everywhere. People few and far between and those who walked the streets had a hollow look about them. And they were the strong ones. Along the crumbling sidewalks, living skeletons lay curled up in abandoned doorways, too weak to do anything but sleep away their days.

"Welcome to the City of Angels," Mike said sarcastically, getting out of the car. He was plenty familiar with this area. And others that were, actually, much worse. At least the bullets weren't flying here. There were no dead six-year-olds floating in pools of their own blood to greet them. This was peaceful by comparison.

E.J. understood what Mike meant about driving to their assignments. Locking her doors with the keychain button, she cast a withering look at her shiny new car parked in front of a boarded-up hair salon and sighed. The man who'd been sleeping in its shaded doorway momentarily lifted his grizzled, unshaven, dirty face, narrowed his eyes at E.J.'s car and then went right back to his nap.

"It'll be fine," Mike told her as he watched her watching the man looking at her car. "Might get the windshield washed before we're outta here but they don't charge much, y'know? Maybe a couple bucks. Enough for a quick tweak later on tonight — quick hit, nothing fancy."

"Why's Hetty sending us here?" E.J. asked Mike.

"The answer to that, Miss Barrett, is quite simple."

Hetty's voice, crisp and curt as it came through the speaker of Mike's iPhone, startled E.J.

"This building is the last suspected address of David Yancey, an AWOL Fireman from the USS Alamo. Fireman Yancey became a bit too enamored with the prospect of fighting fires onboard ship rather than ensuring that none occurred."

"In other words, he was a pyro," Mike interjected.

"To put it bluntly, Mister Renko, he did enjoy playing with matches. On a grand scale. And, as evidenced by what remains of the address to which you have been sent, Fireman Yancey continues..."

"... seeking means to fulfill his burning desires?" Mike joked. "Sorry, Hetty. Couldn't resist."

"When you've dispensed with Amateur Hour, Mister Renko, I trust you and Miss Barrett will begin some semblance of an investigation so that we might track down Fireman Yancey before he endangers any more lives — including his own."

With that, Mike's phone went silent. Hetty was gone.

"Okay, that was creepy," E.J. said. "How the HELL did she know where we were?"

"Aw, that's nothing," Mike told E.J. "You shoulda been there when she came to visit when I was on assignment, infiltrating a gun-running group in Wyoming. I came out of the shower and there's Hetty, waiting on me with a cowboy hat in one hand and a Glock in the other..."

* * *

><p>Mike squinted through what remained of the burned doorway of the building.<p>

"Ladies first," he said to E.J., bowing slightly as he gestured towards the blackened frame.

"Wow. Such a gentleman," she retorted snippily, shooting Mike a dirty look as she carefully picked her way through the rubble.

"Charred, I'm sure," Mike joked. E.J. whipped around, glaring at him. Mike quickly shut up, seeing that E.J. was finding nothing humorous about spending her day traipsing through the scene of an arson. The smell of accelerant and smoke still hung heavy in the air, causing both to cough from the harsh fumes.

As they searched for any clues as to Yancey's whereabouts, E.J. let out a massive sigh, shaking her head.

"What?" Mike asked.

"I just can't believe this is what my career has become," she said.

"Yeah, well, I used to be Hetty's undercover go-to guy," Mike replied, "and now look at me."

"We've gotta convince Hetty to give us better jobs than... this," E.J. sighed.

Mike started to say something, his lips curling into a slight grin, but E.J. stopped him cold.

"I swear to God if you make some crack about our careers having 'gone down in flames,' I'm breaking up with you — after I kill you," E.J. said, cutting her eyes in Mike's direction. He swallowed, frowned and studied what was left of a desk.

* * *

><p>Driving home, E.J. tapped the steering wheel with her fingers. Mike furrowed his brow, studying her.<p>

"Fifteen cents for your thoughts," Mike said. E.J. glanced over at him, confused.

"Isn't it supposed to be a penny?" she asked.

"All I got is a dime and a nickel," Mike told her, shrugging. E.J. rolled her eyes. "So? What's caught in that steel-trap mind of yours, Barrett?"

"We didn't find a damn thing back there about this Yancey jerk," E.J. said. "We blew it."

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

"Hetty's not going to be happy, Renko," she went on.

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

"And when Hetty's not happy, nobody's happy. You know what that means," E.J. said.

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

"Kensi and Deeks are going to hate us even _more_ when she ends up assigning this one to them," E.J. sighed.

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

* * *

><p>"You really hate my ride, huh?" Mike asked E.J. as she caressed his chest hair with the flat of her palm. They'd gone to bed early. The next day, they'd be catching hell from Hetty — as only Hetty could deliver hell.<p>

E.J. shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"I don't hate your Harley," she said, snuggling against Mike. "I just wish it were... comfortable."

"You acted like you liked the bike when I got it," Mike growled. E.J. nuzzled his neck.

"I like the bike. Sometimes," E.J. said sweetly. "You look sexy on it."

"Yeah, but... after I go riding? _I_ can't feel _my_ ass," Mike admitted.

"Maybe if you're nice, I'll feel your ass _for_ you," E.J. purred.

Mike grinned.

"Tomorrow sound like a good day for a ride, then?" he asked.

"On the bike, sure," E.J. said, adding, "I'm up for a ride tonight, too."

"Well, okay," Mike sighed, "but don't blame _me_ if you can't feel your ass when it's over."


	16. Dangerous But Worth The Risk, Pt 1

Title: Dangerous But Worth The Risk, Pt. 1  
>Author: rekkidbraka<br>Rating: T  
>Pairings: EJ BarrettMike Renko  
>Category: Romance<br>Disclaimer: No infringement intended.  
>Spoilers: None<br>Summary: Mike and EJ clash over his alias' actions.

* * *

><p>E.J. couldn't keep from giggling. Mike's beard was tickling her skin. Also, he was growling like a tiger whenever he touched her. They'd both happened to wake up early and then one thing had led to another...<p>

Their phone rang. Both ignored it, allowing the answering machine to pick it up.

"Mike..." E.J. moaned, wrapping her legs around him. He took the hint, positioning himself above her.

The answering machine let out a long beep. A familiar voice came over its small speaker.

"When you have finished the pre-dawn by-play with Miss Barrett, Mr. Renko, I would appreciate the courtesy of a return phone call — once you have showered, dressed and made yourself appropriate for work, of course."

With that, Hetty hung up.

Mike groaned miserably, suddenly unable to continue with his plans for E.J. She patted him gently on the back.

"Dammit, Hetty," E.J. mumbled as Mike rolled off her. "It would've been hot, though, babe. I know."

Mike lay on his back, feeling awful. This wasn't going to be his day, he could tell.

* * *

><p>"You gotta be kidding me," Mike said.<p>

"Please, Mr. Renko," Hetty replied, "help me to recall a time when I was _not_ speaking seriously with you."

Mike thought it over. After Kensi and Deeks had taken over their last investigation, E.J. and Mike had pleaded with Hetty to send them on more undercover assignments. Now she was doing just that. And it was hard to argue with her anyway, much less when she was agreeing to something they'd suggested.

"Yeah... So. Tell me again about this job."

* * *

><p>"Ooooh... Shopping! What'd you bring me, Daddy?"<p>

E.J. stopped her work to see what was in the large bag that Mike had dropped on his desk.

"Daddy?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Joke, Renko. Don't get your panties in a wad," E.J. said, rifling through the shopping bag. She frowned at its contents.

"Thanks for the advice, Barrett," Mike said laconically. "Maybe you can help me pick out a more form-fitting bra sometime."

E.J. glared at Mike, then went back to discerning his shopping haul.

"What _is _this crap?" She held up a ragged hoodie that was nearly washed-out. "There a sale today at the thrift store or did you go really old school and just dumpster-dive for the fall fashions?"

Mike snickered, rather primly taking his bag from her.

"It's my new work wardrobe," he said, "for the job Hetty's sending me on."

"Job? Cool!" E.J. said excitedly. "What are we doing now? And why does it involve..." She sneered at a disgusting orange and grey striped woolen skull cap. "... terrible taste in clothing?"

"_We_ aren't on this one," Mike told E.J. "Actually, _I'm _not on it, either."

E.J. stared at him, confused.

"Huh?" she asked. "Not getting it. A little more info, please?"

"Say bye-bye to Mike Renko," Mike said, a crooked sneer crossing his face, "and hello to Matty Ray."

* * *

><p>"Matty Ray?" E.J. snickered. "What the hell kind of name is that for an alias?"<p>

"Yo, I knew a Mattie Rae back in Chicago, aight?" Dazz, who'd just slipped in to the Dead Letter Office for the start of his workday, chimed in. "She din't take no mess off _nobody_, y'all. She whoop yo butt if you be actin' up — even if she weren't yo _own_ granmama, too! That woman always mad 'cause her dentures did _not _fit and that do affect a old person's mood, I hear tell anyways."

E.J. laughed, elbowing Mike.

"Hear that, babe? Your alias wears dentures."

Dazz gave E.J. a high-five for that one. They chortled some more. Mike snarled at both of them.

"Laugh it up," he said, frustrated with being the butt of their jokes, "but Matty Ray is a badass on the streets. You don't want to mess with him. Seriously."

"Oh, I bet not," E.J. replied, getting a serious look on her face. "Especially if the Fixodent hasn't taken hold, right?"

Dazz literally collapsed out of his chair, laughing. E.J. couldn't hold back anymore, either. This was awesome, needling Mike about his favorite alias because he was so defensive. For a change, Mike was the one having to take the insults without benefit of any comebacks.

"You two oughta take this act on the road," Mike growled under his breath, snatching up his bag of clothes and slamming the door to the Dead Letter Office in his wake.

* * *

><p>"Okay, I get why you want to keep cover away from our place but us having no contact at all? That doesn't make any sense, Renko," E.J. protested, watching as Mike "packed" Matty Ray's few raggedy belongings into a tattered old Army rucksack.<p>

"Matty Ray's not gonna know anyone like you," Mike told her. "Whenever you see a guy that nasty on the street, you avoid him like the plague, Barrett."

"I have _never _done that," E.J. said indignantly.

"Because you never go to places where guys like Matty Ray hang out," Mike said pointedly. "Unless Hetty makes you. And she hasn't."

"She could," E.J. shot back. "You act like I've never done deep cover work. I _have_. I'm _good _at it. Remember a certain Cat Halsey? She held her own with that renowned badass Zane Miller."

Mike stopped his packing, just long enough to run his hands through his hair. He was tired of arguing with E.J. about this.

"Hey, I remember, okay? But that was completely different. There's no way you or some alias you cook up is gonna get with Matty Ray. Nobody he knows would buy it. Sorry."

E.J. was quiet for a minute or so. She wouldn't look at Mike.

"You don't _want_ me to help," she said. That she was hurt by the idea of Mike resisting the chance to bring her into his job was evident in E.J.'s voice.

Mike sat beside her on their bed, taking her hands in his.

"It's not that," he sighed. "It's just... I can't make you understand. Matty Ray? He's not like any other alias I have. He's a total loner, alright? The guy's a street bum on the make. No job. No friends. No nothing. He'll do anything for a buck. He's total sleaze. Guys like him — they don't have girls tagging along with them. Hell, if he were a real guy out there? He probably couldn't even make it happen with some chick. He's done every drug there is. Probably dying of some disease he couldn't even pronounce."

E.J. still wouldn't look at him.

"Quit piling it on, Mike, I get it," she said quietly. Then she took her hands from his and silently went into the living room, closing the bedroom door as she left.

Mike sighed again, staring at E.J.'s pillow. He was going to miss her, miss knowing that she was sleeping next to him each night. Among other things.

She didn't get it, he knew. Not at all.

* * *

><p><strong>THREE WEEKS LATER<strong>

Another late night in the office. His fingers tapped expertly at the keyboard. One command and he'd destroyed Myxylpx382's realm.

"HAH! Who's your DADDY, huh? That's right, Myxylpx382 — I AM!"

His phone rang. The work line. Really? On a Thursday nearing midnight? He should've been home already, anyway.

_Please don't let it be the Boss,_ he thought.

"Agent Timothy McGee," he said in a professional tone. Then he stopped short, taken aback by the voice on the other line.

"Oh... uh... yeah. Hi. I'm... I'm good. How've you been?"

* * *

><p>"What the <em>hell<em> are you doing here?" Mike growled, clearly upset. "Anybody see you?"

"Gee, babe, I've really missed you, too," E.J. said sarcastically. "And no. I don't think any of the 250 rats you have for neighbors are going to run to the scumbags you've been hanging out with the past few weeks."

Mike checked the window again. There was nobody outside.

"How'd you find me? Hetty said..."

E.J. snorted dismissively.

"Hetty's not the only one who knows how to find people. I have connections, too."

Mike snarled at her.

"You call up DiNozzo? Cash in a little favor?"

E.J. glared at him, swallowing hard.

"Not Tony," she said bitterly.

"_Gibbs_," Mike hissed. "Hell."

E.J. shook her head, giving Mike an incredulous look.

"I'm not giving up my source," she said.

Mike eyed her coolly. She'd tracked him down with someone's help. It sure hadn't come from Hetty or Eric. Eric wouldn't go against Hetty. None of the L.A. team would on this job. E.J. was using someone from her old D.C. crew.

"That _geek_," Mike said, studying E.J.'s face. "The one Gibbs brought out here with him. _He _your buddy now?"

E.J. tried to act nonchalant but knew she was blushing. She always did when Mike had the goods on her about something. She was silent for a minute, then sighed.

"I just wanted to know you were okay. I heard you've been taking some stupid risks with these guys. They find out you're an agent, that you're working without backup, what do you think they'll do to you, Mike?"

"_Dammit_, E.J.," Mike said angrily, "how the hell am I supposed to be effective out there — on the streets — if I'm playing it by the book, huh? Like we do that anyway on these jobs Hetty sends us on. She wants _Matty Ray_ working this. He gets things _done_, okay? Even if it means taking big risks."

"Can't be too effective out on the streets if you're six feet under them," E.J. shot back. "Hetty doesn't want you dead. She's got too much of an _investment_ in your 'success.'" Realizing that she sounded crass, E.J. softened her tone. "_I_ don't want you dead, either. I _love _you. Burying you? Not in my plans for us."

Mike pulled his skull cap tight over his hair. He'd forgotten how greasy Matty Ray let his hair get; the cap kept Mike from going crazy, scratching his scalp. E.J.'s words were hitting him where he lived and if he heard much more, he might reconsider what he was getting ready to do. He swallowed hard. He didn't want to say what he was going to, but it had to be done — so he could make it through the rest of the damn job. The resulting damage to what he had with Barrett? He'd have to repair that later.

Crushing E.J. wasn't anything he enjoyed. It hurt him, too.

"Yeah, well... Maybe you oughta come up with a Plan B, then," Mike heard himself say in the most nonchalant tone he could muster. It took everything within him to force the words from his mouth. He hated this.

E.J.'s face flushed pink with hurt and shock. This wasn't the Mike she knew. At all.

"Your cap's on inside-out," she said quietly, narrowing her eyes at Matty Ray's stupid wool hat she'd come to despise.

Mike frowned, removing it. The tag was sticking up from the back. He flipped the cap the right way and put it back on. He started to say something to E.J. but she raised her hand, silencing him.

"Save it," E.J. whispered. Then she headed out of Matty Ray's rathole of a room, leaving Mike alone with his regrets.


	17. Dangerous But Worth The Risk, Pt 2

Title: Dangerous But Worth The Risk, Pt. 2

Author: rekkidbraka

Rating: T

Pairings: EJ Barrett/Mike Renko

Category: Romance

Disclaimer: No infringement intended.

Spoilers: None

Summary: Mike's undercover mission takes a dangerous turn.

* * *

><p>The red light on the answering machine blinked insistently at E.J. when she arrived home. Sighing, she pressed "PLAY" to listen. Probably Hetty with another missive. Not what she wanted to hear right then.<p>

"I gotta see you. Post Office. Midnight. Park around the corner. I'll be inside."

That was it.

E.J. took her hand off the button. She glanced at the clock.

It was 11:36. She could just make it on time.

* * *

><p>The Dead Letter Office looked awful enough in daylight but in the dark of night it was positively creepy. E.J. made her way into the old warehouse, panning a flashlight around so that she could see where she was going. She moved toward the door to the office, placed her hand on the knob and turned it. Locked.<p>

"Over here."

His voice was quiet and subdued. He had to be exhausted. E.J. turned her flashlight towards the sound of his voice. Soon, she saw him step out from behind a stack of flattened pallets. She went to him.

"I miss you."

The words hit her like shots to the gut.

"I love you."

She stared up at him, swallowing hard, wanting to respond but finding herself unable to speak.

"I'm sorry."

When his voice broke, she took him in her arms, holding him for a long time. It was Indian Summer in L.A. but he was shivering.

* * *

><p>Turning the key in the lock, E.J. led Mike into the office. He closed the door quietly after them.<p>

Wordlessly, she walked him over to the couch along the wall. He sat. E.J. gently pushed him back so that he was somewhat reclining.

She began to unbutton his nearly threadbare shirt, taking her time as she just looked at Mike, studying his face. She helped him pull off the dirty t-shirt underneath.

Now she unzipped his ragged jeans. Mike took in a deep breath, feeling her touch.

She pulled off her shirt and Mike tenderly unhooked her bra. It had been so long since they'd been close.

Once they were naked, Mike pulled E.J. to him, again gently, and kissed her, his tongue probing hers hungrily.

"Sorry," he whispered, panting, "I got morning, noon and night breath."

E.J. smiled, nuzzling his nose with hers.

"You taste great," she said breathlessly before overtaking his mouth with hers.

Afterwards, she left the warehouse first — he wanted it that way, wanted to make sure she got to the car all right.

"Call me," she'd pleaded before stepping out into the night. She stroked his beard.

"I'll try," he'd promised, kissing her hand.

Later that night, as she lay alone in the bed they once shared, E.J. finally let the tears come. It hadn't been enough, the time with Mike that she'd had, but it was all they could manage. And she realized just how many nights together, how much time spent so intimately that they'd been taking for granted.

* * *

><p><strong>TWO WEEKS LATER<strong>

"Where's the stuff, man? You said your guy was gonna be here!" Phong was getting panicky. He didn't trust this Matty Ray guy and hadn't since the start. And now his contact wasn't on time.

Mike tried playing it cool, but he was worried. Where was Deeks?

"Chill... Damn, dude! Maybe he hit traffic. Hell, I don't know. Lemme try calling him again."

He started to dial Deeks on his burn phone. But Phong yanked it out of his hand.

"NO more calls! He better show or you're dead, man!"

_Shouldn't have made that crack about Plan B to Barrett,_ Mike thought. _Looks like it's gonna come true after all._

* * *

><p>"Now how we gonna get Mister Mike outta there?" Dazz wanted to know. "What's yo plan? Ain't you got no plan? 'Cause you always got you a little plan."<p>

E.J. fixed him with a cold glare.

"Right now, my 'plan' is to send your skinny ass in there to take about a hundred bullets so Mike can escape," she hissed.

"Aight, now... I ain't down with _that_ plan," Dazz told her.

"Then shut up and let me think of a _real_ one," E.J. snapped. That she didn't really have a plan made her angry — at herself. Preparation was her strong suit and she'd let her emotions keep her from thinking tactically.

Dazz was quiet for a couple of minutes. Then he raised his hand as if he wanted to be called on, like a kid in school. E.J. looked at him incredulously.

"Really?" she asked.

"I got a little idea fo' yo consideration. If you do, in fact, have a interest in hearin' it, Miss E-Jay," Dazz replied in a more businesslike tone.

"Cut it out, Dazz," E.J. said. She was nearing the end of her patience limit with him. But she knew she was being bitchy and needed to rein herself in. "Okay... What is it?" she sighed. She could think of nothing.

"Well, I _did_ notice that pizza place right on that little corner," Dazz hinted. "An' sometimes they _do_ send folks they pizzas when they ain't ever _ordered_ nothin'. I'm just sayin'..."

* * *

><p>Just then, there was a knock at the door. <em>Finally<em>, Mike thought.

Phong jerked the door open.

"Pizza dee-livery," Dazz said, grinning broadly. Phong glared at him.

Hearing the voice, Mike rolled his eyes and thought _God, no... NO._

"We didn't order no stupid PIZZA, dude!" Phong yelled.

"Yo, man!" Dazz protested loudly, "I got a order fo' a PIZZA from this HERE add-ress and I DO know that I cain't be takin' this extra large peppterone-zee and cheese pizza BACK to my boss 'cause he DO be takin' it outta MY paycheck, yo! Now one a y'all's gon' be payin' me for this lil' pizza, aight?"

Phong looked back to a couple of his "boys," barking something to them in Vietnamese. They rushed to the door, fumbling in their pockets as they searched for money.

"How much?" Phong demanded.

"This here pizza come to the low, low price of..." Dazz frowned, taking his time as he pretended to look for a dollar amount on the box, "... now y'all jus' hang on a lil' minute..."

Meanwhile, at the back door to the garage, Mike barely made out the sound of the lock being picked. The door slowly edged open. Mike's eyes met E.J.'s. She carefully handed him a gun. He glowered at her, but took the weapon. Then she slipped in through the door, hiding behind a stack of tires. Again, Mike narrowed his eyes at her, unhappy with what was proceeding, but he said nothing.

At the front door of the garage, Phong was losing patience with the world's most inept pizza delivery guy.

"JUST TAKE THIS AND GET LOST, DUDE!" Phong screamed, shoving a twenty dollar bill at Dazz. Dazz, who'd noticed E.J. slip in by the back door, thrust the pizza back at him.

"Well, FINE, dog! If y'all ain't gon' thow in no lil' tip, then I hope y'all's pizza be all COLD!" Dazz said peevishly. Phong slammed the door in his face. "DAMN, man! Y'all be all RUDE!" Dazz hollered from outside, mainly for effect. Also so that E.J. could have as much time as possible to slip Mike the gun.

After making sure nobody was watching him, Dazz bolted for the back door to make sure E.J. had gotten in. Seeing that she had, he ducked down where she'd told him to hide and keep lookout.

Fumbling with the gun she'd given him, Dazz broke a sweat as he watched out for any of Phong's men exiting the front of the shop.

_I hope this wasn't no stupid idea of mine,_ Dazz thought to himself, _'cause Miss E-Jay is NOT gonna be happy with me if she and Mister Mike DO get all killed._


End file.
